Elizabeth Wellington and The Family Secret
by miserabilia
Summary: While Richard and Elizabeth begin to unravel a fifty year old secret that their grandfather has been keeping, her friends face a new challenge at Hogwarts. She must decide whether finding out Thomas' mysterious past is more important than helping Harry.
1. Chapter One

The holidays were not turning out how Elizabeth had hoped. Just as she had suspected, her grandmother was less than happy to be informed about her rowdy behaviour at Hogwarts. Margaret had been put-off by Elizabeth ever since she was sorted into Gryffindor first year. Elizabeth couldn't understand why. It wasn't like she had asked to be put there. She wanted to be a Ravenclaw like everyone else in her family, but by the end of the year though, she was happy with her placement. Like her Uncle William had told her she would, she had grown to love Gryffindor. She felt she belonged there, and she was satisfied with the friends she had made. However, instead of Margaret being angry at Elizabeth for what she had done, she in turned blamed William for being a bad influence. William, of course, thought otherwise. He firmly believed that unless he put someone under the Imperius curse, he wasn't responsible for that person's actions. Consequently, he and Margaret spent most of the summer arguing, and Margaret had turned particularly violent towards him, hitting him more often than usual. She had even thrown a glass at him the night the children came home from Hogwarts.

Elizabeth had been feeling rather dispirited lately, and the cause was more than the constant fighting around the house. She had written Harry several times, but he hadn't responded to a single letter. She was worried about him since Hermione had written her that he wasn't responding to her letters either. She was concerned that Harry's aunt and uncle were mistreating him again and there was nothing she could do about it. She therefore hadn't bothered to send him his birthday present. She knew he wouldn't have received it anyway. She felt absolutely horrible about it though. She couldn't imagine what it felt like to think everyone forgot your birthday. Elizabeth's was so close to Christmas that they never celebrated it separately. Born in the second hour of Boxing Day morning, it seemed rather pointless to her family to celebrate it on the actual day, so they just combined it with Christmas. She never got extra gifts and any birthday wishes came attached to the Christmas presents. Richard always told Elizabeth he preferred it that way. He never had to remember to get her anything for her birthday, all he needed was to get her a Christmas present, and it wasn't like Richard was ever going to forget when Christmas was.

Elizabeth sat quietly on her bed reading. The muffled sounds of a brawl beginning could be heard from downstairs, but she tried to ignore them the best she could. The afternoon had a lazy feel to it as sunlight flooded her room, causing the normally bright blue to somehow seem calmed. Her uncle's favourite colour was blue and he did used to be quite a loud child. He was still quite the boisterous man, but Elizabeth was told he had surprisingly toned down with age. She couldn't imagine how bad he used to be if he was toned down now. He had painted the walls vibrant blue with the carpet to match when he occupied the room as a child. He had since relocated downstairs into Thomas' study and he had to put his writing desk in the parlour, but it's simply not the same as having his own space to work in. William currently had his room a dull neutral colour and Margaret soon regretted removing him from the attic after she had done it. In the attic, William's normal mishaps and falls were muted to the two floors below. On the first floor however, whatever crash he made resonated throughout the entire house, and he made quite the racket for someone trained to be stealthy.

While William had liked the attic for the ability to be his clumsy self as a child, Elizabeth liked the attic room because it offered her space of her own. It was unlike Richard's, whose room was first door on the left at the very top of the stairs, meaning everyone had to pass it to get where they were going and even from downstairs in the kitchen, with the way the house was, everyone could see clearly into Richard's room from the breakfast table if he left his door open. Elizabeth was on a floor all to herself though. All she had to do was close her door and no one could see in, but no one could see up the white staircase even if she left her door open. She had her own bathroom so there was never a need to stumble downstairs in the middle of the night, facing the potential of getting hurt on the unseen objects in the dark. Mostly, the room offered privacy. It was to Elizabeth a place literally above all the rules of the house. It was her quiet place, and she welcomed the silence of it. Lately, however, there was little silence to be found anywhere in the house and her attic room barely brought relief from it all.

Elizabeth was seated comfortably on her bed reading while the sounds from downstairs had gone from the beginning of an argument to a full out war. She was snapped from her reading by the sound of her door opening and the yelling from downstairs flooding into her room. The door had closed as quickly as it had opened, cutting her grandmother off halfway through cursing at William. Richard came up the white staircase, looking exhausted. Elizabeth went back to her book.

"I don't care if they're driving you crazy, you can't stay up here," she said.

Richard plopped face first on her bed, causing Elizabeth to be bounced from her spot with the movement. "I need a nap," he muttered into her bed.

Elizabeth pushed him with her foot. "Then go sleep in your own room."

He propped himself on his elbows. "Gran's gone insane. When she's not yelling at him, she's yelling at me about the bookshop."

Margaret had been particularly fractious lately, but it wasn't completely William's fault. Between her job and the shop, she barely got any rest. She was too worried about the book signing. Gilderoy Lockhart was scheduled to appear in Flourish & Blotts that following week. He was to sign copies of his autobiography, _Magical Me_, from 12:30 pm to 4:30 pm, but Elizabeth couldn't have cared less. She wasn't entranced by him like so many others of her gender, and probably a few of the opposite as well. Margaret had been stressing for weeks about it though, probably a contributing factor of her especially vicious confrontations with William as of late. Margaret had not only been running herself ragged, but she had been pushing Richard to his limits preparing as well. Elizabeth never saw him look so peaked before. She almost felt sorry for him.

"What're you reading now?" he said, turning his head to read the spine of the book in Elizabeth's hands. "_Nature's Nobility: A Wizarding Genealogy_. We in there?"

"The Albrights are," said Elizabeth, nose deep in the book.

The Albrights were a line of pure-blood witches and wizards like the Wellingtons. In fact, it was Margaret's family. They had dated back for centuries, much like Thomas' family, and had accomplished much in their time. Her father, Oliver, was Minister of Magic from 1968 until his death by Voldemort in 1974. Her mother Ann, whom Elizabeth's middle name came from, was a healer that was apparently stricter than Margaret and, according to Thomas, hated the world with a fiery passion. He often called her an unpleasant hag, only when Margaret wasn't around, of course.

Oliver only had an older sister Clara, who married into the Crouch family and soon lived to regret that decision. William said they used to call her Auntie Clara and she baked seven dozen biscuits daily to avoid talking to her husband. William said he loved when they went to visit her, as it was hard for Margaret to keep two young boys from eating at least one biscuit and not like with eighty-four biscuits she could really keep track if a few were missing. Clara and her husband had no children and from what William said, she spent the majority of her time, when she wasn't baking, trying to keep it that way. She had passed on shortly before Elizabeth was born. She had died rather early for a witch and William said it was probably because she ate eighty-four biscuits a day.

Oliver and Ann only had two daughters, Margaret and her older sister Catherine, that has a husband Oscar that Elizabeth swears thinks he's a real train conductor with all the toy ones he keeps around. Their surviving son Michael lives with his wife and their twelve hunting dogs that all look the same and all have names that start with P. They also have a cat named Twinkle, that William once almost threw out a sixth story window for scratching his back so bad that Grandma Ann had to fix it. Elizabeth imagined she was none too chuffed about that.

"Wicked," said Richard.

Elizabeth slowly looked up from her book. "Do you have any idea what this book is about?" Richard shook his head. "It's about pure-blood families that have died out in the male line."

"Oh." He sat up. "So I take it we're not in there then."

Elizabeth hid behind her book again. "Get out, Richard." He pulled the book out of her hand and snapped it shut. "Richard!"

"You still have that penknife?"

Elizabeth growled at him, then got up and walked to her desk underneath her window. It was dark wood that was chipped in various places. It was beaten up in Elizabeth's mind. The top was adorned in ink stains and nicks, the drawer stuck whenever she tried to open it, and the back right leg would give out if anyone touched it. She jiggled the drawer until it started to slide out. She pulled on it with all her might until it flew open only halfway. The drawer never fully opened. It would always get stuck and Elizabeth was forced to just feel around the back for whatever she needed, which is exactly what she was doing. She pulled out the penknife and slammed her hip into the drawer with such force the drawer shut completely in one try, but she was sure she would have a bruise the next day. It was the only way she could figure out to effectively close it though. She went to hand the penknife to Richard, who tried to take it from her, but she pulled it out of his reach.

"Why do you want this?" she asked.

"Just give it here, Elizabeth Ann."

"Tell me why you want it."

He tried to snatch it from her, but she fell back into the desk, balancing herself with one hand on its top. Richard's body smacked into hers and the force of both of them caused the drawer to pop out of the slot, spilling quills and various nicknacks everywhere.

"Way to go, Richard."

He leaned down to pick it up. "Hey, what's that?" He nodded to the empty drawer slot.

Elizabeth leaned over to peek into the hole. On the top was taped a letter. She reached in and took it out. It was worn and yellow, sealed on the back with a red stamp and written on in blue ink. She turned it over in her hands before handing it to Richard, who had quickly thrown all of Elizabeth's possessions back in the drawer and placed it on top of the desk. He took the letter.

"It's never been opened," he said. Elizabeth tried to take it, but Richard smacked her hand away. "It's not yours, Elizabeth Ann."

"Well it's not [i]yours[/i] either, prat."

His eyes flashed with anger. She expected him to hit her, but he grabbed her wrist, turning her hand over.

"What's that?" he said.

There were three words imprinted on her hand. _Alea iacta est_. She pulled her hand from him.

"It's from the desk." She pointed to the far right corner with the words carved in it. "It's always been there."

"You do know what that means, Elizabeth Ann?"

"Richard, I'm not stupid. I can read Latin just fine."

Just as Richard was about to say something, a loud crash that sounded like all the pots and pans had burst out of the cabinets and onto the floor erupted from the kitchen, followed by yelling, and the distinct sound of the swift little feet of a certain blond man running for his life with clicking high heels hot on his trail.

He burst up the stairs and into Elizabeth's room, tapping his wand on the lock and pressing his back to the door.

"I didn't do it," he said quickly. He noticed them huddled around the desk. "Oh, my old desk."

William had left the old beaten up thing in there when he relocated his bedroom to the first floor. The desk was not actually his, but just came into his possession, much like it had for Elizabeth. It was originally Thomas' desk during his schooldays. He had brought it with him and Margaret hated it so much when they got married, she got him a new desk. When Nicholas had started going to school, Thomas had given it to him. Margaret, again hating the well worn thing with a passion, in turn bought Thomas a new desk, causing the first one she bought him to go to Nicholas and the old beaten up desk to be turned over to William. Elizabeth had no idea which of the three was responsible for the marks, but she had her suspicions. He was short, blond, and a complete disaster. In other words, William.

Now, William had a new desk. It was actually Thomas' old desk, which used to be in his study, which is now William's room. Margaret had a fit when they had to move all of the things from the study into the parlour and half the furniture in the parlour simply had to go. Thomas got a new desk, so the desk from Nicholas went to Richard, and Thomas' desk went to William, who surprisingly hadn't destroyed it yet. Richard later decided he didn't much like Nicholas' desk after his second year of school, so he got a new one, and Nicholas' old desk went back into his old room. With all these desks being handed around, Elizabeth wondered how she got stuck with the old piece of junk in her room.

Richard handed William the letter. "Elizabeth was trying to read it."

William glanced at Richard, then at her, before taking the letter. "It's never been opened."

"We found it taped inside the drawer slot."

"Curious."

"You didn't do it?" asked Elizabeth.

William shook his head and handed them the letter back. "Not my doing, sorry."

A loud rapping came at the door followed by an all too familiar voice. "William Henry Wellington, you get out here right now and clean up your mess!"

"Odd flashbacks to my schooldays," William whispered to Richard and Elizabeth.

"WILLIAM!"

"I'm coming, woman."

He pointed his wand at the door and it unlocked. Elizabeth watched him saunter down the stairs and open the door, nearly hitting Margaret in the face, which would have sent all three of them running for safety. She stumbled backwards as the door swung open, gripping the side of it to balance herself. William slipped past her and she shoved him towards the stairs.

Margaret looked up into the room. Elizabeth stood at the top of the stairs, Richard leaned against the banister, trying to conceal the letter. Margaret's dark eyes narrowed.

"Richard broke my desk," said Elizabeth. "Can I have a new one?"

They had decided to simply put the letter back where they found it and leave it be once Margaret left. The last thing they wanted was to stir up more trouble when there was more than enough going around as it was.

That night, Elizabeth lay fast asleep in her bed, the covers wrapped tightly around her. All was still in the house. Everyone was asleep by the time the grandfather clock in the upstairs hallway had struck midnight. Moonlight illuminated the stairs in Elizabeth's bedroom. She was snapped awake by the sound of the window bursting open. A cold gust of wind engulfed the room and she bolted straight up. She wrapped her arms around herself as the cold night air met her skin. She slowly pulled back the covers and slid out of bed. Crossing into the moonlight, she pushed the window shut, latching it tightly. Outside, the street below was empty. Not a single soul walked the streets at this hour. The only sound to be heard was that of the wind whipping around unseen. Elizabeth rested her hands on the desk beneath the window as she peered out into the winding, cobblestone alley. August had just begun, but it felt colder than usual. Just the sound of the wind made Elizabeth feel cold to the bone. She lifted her hands off the desk to find an imprint of the carving on her right hand again. She didn't know who wrote it there, when, and why. When she first discovered it, she thought nothing of it. However, soon enough her curious mind had her scouring through book after book in the shop until she finally came across it. Latin for the die has been cast, the ominous message has remained in the back of her mind ever since. She didn't know what it referred to, and she was certainly not eager to find out. She hardly believed she would like the answer.

Since she had been stirred awake by the window crashing open, she had heard a slight shuffling sound coming from downstairs. It sounded like someone was rummaging through the drawers and cupboards in the kitchen. Elizabeth knew there was only one person who would be awake at this hour and in the kitchen. It had to be William.

Elizabeth slunk down her bedroom stairs and carefully opened the door. She glided silently across the wood floor of the hallway, trying to avoid making the floor creak. She cautiously crept down the staircase, her back pressed to the wall. As she moved closer downstairs, the kitchen came into view. Light from the window fell across the sink, down the counter, across the breakfast table, where it then cascaded down onto the wood floor, finally coming to rest on the dented wall. Another memento from William's childhood. Margaret refused to fix any damage he had ever caused, to the house or otherwise. It was unknown why she kept all that she did. The entire storage room upstairs was filled with all of Nicholas' and William's old things. Unwilling to discard anything, Elizabeth assumed it had to be for sentimental reasons that her grandmother kept everything, even dented walls and burnt settees.

The sound had moved into the parlour. Elizabeth recognised the faint humming coming from the room. She descended the rest of the staircase and positioned herself in the doorway between the kitchen and parlour. All too familiar was the shadow moving across the room. Elizabeth had to admit for the first time in years, William Wellington had managed to genuinely shock her. He stood at the bureau, ripping the drawers out of the slots and feeling around in them. She rubbed her eyes out of disbelief. She was sure the lack of light was messing with her eyesight, but there was her uncle, standing in nothing but a pair of jeans, which were unbuttoned and threatening to fall off him at any moment. Elizabeth had no idea what he could possibly be looking for, but she was going to find out.

"What _are_ you doing?" she said in complete shock.

He turned around, his eyes falling on Elizabeth standing in the doorway. She saw he had a large, thick red mark running across his chest and a small cut on his shoulder. His hair was a complete disaster, sticking up and puffing out in a way that made him look like he had fallen out of a tree. It would certainly explain his shoulder. He slowly pulled his jeans up to hide what looked to be a tattoo on his pelvis.

"Is that —" she pointed to his pelvis. "Does Gran know you have that?"

He hushed her, furiously waving his hands. His jeans fell down again and Elizabeth could clearly see it there, slightly peeking out of the top of his pants.

"You have a tattoo!"

"Elizabeth!" he hissed.

She ran into the parlour. "Gran won't even let me have my ears pierced and _you_ have a tattoo."

Margaret was very strict. She monitored everything that everyone in the household did, ate, read, and wore. She would not allow any sweets, although Thomas was fond of various fruit juices and Richard liked his tea sweetened. She made everyone clean their room daily, they had to bath at least once a day, brush their teeth twice, and clean their ears because William always did have terrible ear infections as a child. She also demanded everyone eat three square meals a day, no snacking, and never any dessert, unless it was a holiday and Aunt Catherine brought a gateau.

Beyond hygiene and nutrition, Margaret also did not allow any Muggle reading material in the house, which William and Thomas cared not to listen to. Thomas because he just liked reading that much, and William because he just liked to disobey rules that much. She also did not allow Richard's hair to be longer than his ears, Elizabeth's hair to hang near her eyes, and since William had hair down past his chin and it always hung in his eyes, Margaret chased him with the scissors from time to time to cut it herself. She never did seem to catch him though. Margaret also did not allow Elizabeth to have her ears pierced, which she thought was highly unfair since Margaret had her ears pierced and always wore shiny plastic earrings either in blue or red. She also did not allow them to have tattoos, which Richard says is because Thomas has one on his right side that runs up and down and Margaret hates it with a passion. She would be furious if she knew William had one and where it was, because having one on your side is one thing, but having one that is covered by your pants is another story entirely.

"That's not the point," William said.

Elizabeth looked at the mark on his chest, which was getting brighter and starting to bruise. "What happened to your chest?"

William crossed his arm over his chest to cover it. "Nothing." He pulled his jeans up with the other hand.

"You're a right disaster, Uncle William."

"I am not. I'm simply —" he stopped mid-sentence and his eyes lit up. "Nick's room!"

He quickly bolted across the room, holding his jeans up as he ran upstairs, humming to himself. She swore it sounded very familiar, but she couldn't place it.

She followed up the stairs quietly and as quickly as she could, trying to avoid that creaking floorboard in the upstairs hallway. William had taken off towards her father's old room. Now, Richard's room was the first door at the top of the stairs, and next to his room was a bathroom. The hall then split. The right path led right to Elizabeth's attic bedroom, and further down the hall was the guest bedroom with the guest bathroom next to it. The straight path had the storage room at the corner on the right. Nicholas' old room was next to it, and across from his room was the airing cupboard and it was a rather large one indeed. At the very end of the hall was Thomas and Margaret's bedroom. They always slept with the door open and Elizabeth was sure they would hear William, as Margaret somehow always heard him causing trouble no matter how quiet he was.

Elizabeth followed him into Nicholas' room. It was kept exactly the way Nicholas' left it when he left home. It was William who insisted it stay like that and not Margaret. She had actually told William to move into there when he gave Elizabeth his attic bedroom, but he had a right fit. Elizabeth had never seen him so upset. He was usually a very calm man and even in the worst of situations he could keep his head, but the moment Margaret suggested it, he absolutely lost it. He ran into Nicholas' room and barricaded the door. Every time Margaret tried to open it, he would scream at the top of his lungs, in the highest pitch Elizabeth had ever heard his voice, that she was not going to erase Nicholas. No matter how much she tried to explain that she was not erasing Nicholas, William wouldn't listen. He just kept screaming and crying uncontrollably.

_"Honestly," _Margaret said, as Thomas told her to leave him be._ "He's twenty-six years old, Thomas. He shouldn't be acting like this."_

But Thomas disagreed and it was the one and only time in her life that Elizabeth saw Thomas stand up to Margaret._ "You get away from that door and leave him be, Maggie."_

When she wouldn't listen and was ready to blast the door off the hinges to get William out, Thomas had had enough.

_"For Merlin's sake Maggie can't you see you're destroying the boy!" _He raised his wand to her. Margaret was stunned, but remained firm. She made a move for the door and Thomas petrified her. He turned to the children, who were watching the whole thing._ "Go get Claude," _he said to Richard.

Richard ran downstairs, screaming for Claudius. Elizabeth watched on as her grandmother lay on the floor, Thomas standing over her. William could still be heard sobbing inside the room. Elizabeth didn't know why she remembered it so vividly, but she did know it was the earliest memory she had.

While William's old room was brightly coloured and a right mess, Nicholas' room was much more tame. It was painted a modest celery green colour, as Elizabeth described it. His cupboard was neatly kept, the doors open, and old clothes hanging in it, his Ravenclaw scarf hanging on one of the knobs. A bed covered in the same old deep red linens that Thomas said Nicholas' used to keep, was pushed against the left wall. After the incident, Thomas made sure that Margaret never replaced them with others. She would simply have to wash them and put them back. It annoyed Margaret, but she did it.

William had immediately run to the desk against the back wall and pulled the drawer open, but unlike the bureau downstairs in the parlour, he carefully pulled it out of the slot and placed it on the top of the desk. He reached into the empty slot, pulling out a letter similar to the one Richard and Elizabeth had found in her desk.

"Uncle William?" She tripped on the circular floor rug in the center of the room and fell flat on her face with a rather loud thud.

"Bethie!" he hushed her. "Be quiet!"

He silently crossed over to the half open door and peered out from behind it. The door swung completely open, nearly hitting him. Margaret stood in the door way. Her long chestnut brown hair was slightly messy, curlers hanging in it, and her pink bathrobe dragged across the floor. She looked as though as she was about to explode with anger when she saw William.

"Morning, Mum," he said casually, zipping his jeans and buttoning them in hopes they would only fall around his hips and not down further.

Elizabeth pushed herself up and turned over to see Margaret looking like a bull. Her nostrils were flaring with anger, her fists clenched tightly. Elizabeth swore she would have charged on her if William had not sneezed at that exact moment. Her attention turned back to him. He looked at her, eyes wide, aware of the mistake he had just made.

"OUT!" Margaret yelled shrilly, waking up the rest of the household.

William and Elizabeth scurried out of the room like terrified little mice. Margaret grabbed the door handle and slammed the door shut.

"What's going on?"

Richard had appeared out of his room, very sleepy and stumbling. He was rubbing his eyes and yawning as he opened the door. Telemachus could be heard inside making a ruckus as well.

"Nothing," said William. "Go back to bed."

"GO!" yelled Margaret, pointing down the hallway. Her breathing was rapid and Elizabeth could tell she was not going to get off lightly for this one.

"What's all the racket?" Thomas had finally come to see what all the commotion in the hallway was. "Do you have any idea what time is it, Mags?"

"_I_ am aware of the time, Thomas," said Margaret. "But apparently _your son_ is not." She turned to William. "And what happened to you now?" She was looking him over from the bottom of his dirty little feet, to the now fully bruised chest, the punctured shoulder, and the puffed out hair. She rolled her eyes. "Fallen out of bed again?"

"I will have you know, _woman_, that I have done no such thing."

Margaret hit him across the chest. She always did that when he got fresh with her. Elizabeth was used to her doing that, but the sound of her hand hitting his bare flesh just made Elizabeth flinch.

"Stop doing that!" He rubbed his chest, the bruise from earlier having been partially masked by Margaret's hand print. "It's a miracle you haven't cracked my sternum doing that since I was ten."

"You deserve it! You are nothing but a menace!" She raised her hand to him. "Oh, get out of my sight!"

"Gladly," he said calmly, descending the stairs.

"Oh!" said Margaret frustrated. "You are a no good, lousy, little ─"

"Margaret," said Thomas. "He hasn't caused any damage."

"He tore apart the parlour." Elizabeth realised she had just tattled on her uncle the moment she said it. Margaret stared at her. "Just so you know," she said meekly, backing into her grandfather, who put his hands on her shoulders.

"It's okay, we'll clean it up in the morning. Just let's get you back to bed now," said Thomas guiding her towards her bedroom. "We've got a lot to do in the next few days. Need your rest to help out, you do."

Richard was clearly awake now and grinning maliciously. While they had learned to tolerate each other better since going to school last year, he was still the same old swotty Richard, which meant he enjoyed taunting her.

"Oh, I smell the perfect punishment coming on," said Richard as he crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the door frame. He was awfully arrogant sometimes.

"Piss off!" said Elizabeth angrily.

"Now, now, we're not punishing anyone," said Thomas. Richard's smile faded. "I expect you to be up bright an early tomorrow morning as well."

"You mean this morning," said William, standing at the bottom of the staircase.

"Go to bed!" yelled Margaret, still fuming.

"Fine," said William. "I broke the lock on the bureau, I'll have you know, but since I'm ordered to bed, you can just fix that."

"YOU LITTLE NIGHTMARE!" Margaret gripped the banister. "You ─ you just go to your room! And don't come out for the rest of the night!" William just brushed her off and disappeared down the hallway towards his room on the first floor. Margaret turned back to Elizabeth. "And you go back to bed. It's late."

She opened the door to Elizabeth's bedroom. Elizabeth climbed the stairs up to her bed and Margaret closed the door behind her. She heard her grandparents usher Richard to his bedroom and shut the door after him. She crept back down the stairs to listen at the door. She could hear her grandmother's muffled cries. Obviously she had just seen what William had done to the parlour.

"THOMAS!"

Her words were loud and clear. Elizabeth heard her grandfather's footsteps running down the stairs. Elizabeth cracked the door slightly, peeking out. She could see them moving around downstairs in the parlour. Margaret was furiously picking things off the floor, gathering them in her arms.

"That louse!" she said. "What on Earth was he looking for now?"

Margaret dumped all the items on the settee and began one by one to pick them out, rub them clean on her bathrobe, and begin to put them back in their rightful places. "Oh, he's just impossible, Thomas." She stopped and straightened up. "And did you see he's hurt himself again?" She shook her head, her curlers bouncing as she did. "I swear one of these days I'm —" She stopped mid-sentence and walked out of sight.

A shadow moved in the kitchen. Long and slender, it moved from the back hallway against the wall, back pressed to the staircase. A grey hood was covering his head, his puffed up hair poking out. Grey was his favourite colour to wear. His jeans were now securely staying up, a belt visible to her when he bent down to stay out of Margaret's view. Two worn and faded trainers hung from his face and Elizabeth was disgusted at the thought of how much dirt was on the shoelaces he was holding in his mouth. He quickly got up and dashed down the front entrance hall. She did not hear the door click, or him descend the stairs, but William was trained in stealth after all. She went to close her door when she caught the sight of a familiar brown eye glancing out from the first door at the top of the stairs.

He pulled the door open more and mouthed, "Where is he going?"

Elizabeth opened her door a crack more and shook her head to indicate she didn't know. Margaret's voice could be heard again and she moved back into the light. They both hurriedly closed their doors. Elizabeth thought it was a good question. Where _was_ he going?


	2. Chapter Two

"Feet on the floor, Elizabeth."

Elizabeth sat at the breakfast table, her knees bent near her chest, her bare feet resting on the edge of her chair. She was eating a blueberry muffin, which she always picked the blueberries out of, as she read a book she had grabbed from the bookshop earlier that week along with _Nature's Nobility: A Wizarding Genealogy_. _Hélas, Je me suis Tranfiguré les Pieds_ by Malecrit was turning out to be a rather enjoyable play. She did enjoy the French language. Her uncle had taught her since birth, but sadly, as he was not completely fluent, neither was she. He gave her books in French often to help her improve. She was always excited to find a new word and would write it down to ask William later its infinitive form and how to conjugate it. She rarely came across opportunities to speak it though. She had never been to France, nor had she ever spoken French with a French person. Mamie only spoke to them in English when she came to visit, upon Margaret's request of course, and they were never allowed to go visit her in Alsace.

"Elizabeth," said Margaret impatiently.

She diverted her attention away from her reading, but not because of her grandmother, because a loud crash had come from upstairs that startled her. She glanced quickly toward the top of the staircase then to her grandmother, who was clearly aggravated.

"William!"

"Richard," Elizabeth corrected her and went back to reading.

"Richard!"

Out of habit, whenever thunderous booms and thuds came from upstairs, Margaret immediately blamed them on William. As a child, the sounds of his lack of coordination resounded throughout the house. It was clearly evident to anyone who truly knew William that he was rather clumsy when not hard at work. He had no balance whatsoever. He often fell out of chairs, or walked into the corner of walls and furniture. It was a miracle he never fractured anything.

"Where is William?" Margaret asked Elizabeth.

William had disappeared the night before when Margaret kicked him out of Nicholas' room. He hadn't been seen since.

"I don't know," said Elizabeth. "He's not in his room?"

Margaret shook her head. "I already checked. I checked Nicholas' room too."

"Curious." Elizabeth took a bite of her muffin and spat out the blueberries onto a plate in front of her.

Margaret hit her with the dish towel. "Elizabeth Ann Wellington, proper women do not spit!"

"I'm twelve." Elizabeth thought this was proper justification, but from the look on Margaret's face, she clearly disagreed.

A loud slam was heard, but not from Richard's room, from the front entrance hall. Thomas came into the kitchen with a leather bound book.

"If he's been leaving books around the shop again, I'll kill him," said Margaret.

Thomas tossed the book on the table and took his seat. "No, no, he isn't doing _that_ again."

_That_ referred to a series of small leather bound journals left lying throughout the shop. Inside were hand drawn pictures of the shop keepers in Diagon Alley, and they were certainly not flattering pictures at that. Margaret had a nice long chat with William about doing this and it hasn't happened again. Margaret was so embarrassed when the other shop keeps found out that she didn't go out for a whole week. She also never referred to the incident again, only calling it the time he did _that_.

"Well, what _is_ he doing?"

Thomas poured himself a glass of orange juice. "He mentioned something about going on a hunt. He popped into the bookshop this morning when I opened and then took off rather quickly."

"You think he's found Greyback again?" asked Elizabeth.

"He was very determined," said Thomas. "He may very well have."

William Wellington was a very determined man. Thomas had said this all the time. Once he set his mind to something, he _would_ accomplish it. He had received all Os on his O.W.L.s _and_ his N.E.W.T.s, but this impressed Margaret none. He had been the best at his Auror training, and was currently working to be Head of the Aurors, if Scrimgeour ever retires. Margaret did not care for this either. His current determination was to capture and/or kill Fenrir Greyback, who had escaped from him once and would not be getting away again when they next met.

A loud thud came from upstairs again and Margaret stopped dead in her tracks.

"Thomas, who's managing the shop?" she asked worriedly, realising that Thomas was at the breakfast table with Elizabeth and Richard was upstairs making a ruckus, leaving no one in the shop.

"Claudius," said Thomas.

Claudius was one of Elizabeth's favourite people and certainly one of Margaret's least favourite. Earlier that year, after Richard and Elizabeth had gone back to school when the winter holidays ended, William had visited Claudius to return the key to the wardrobe that he had given him. Well, as William put it, this little visit had made them realise they had invested too much into their friendship to end it. Richard had smirked at this and attempted to tell Elizabeth what that really meant, but Margaret promptly smacked him across the back of the head and said if any of them mentioned it again, they would all be in deep trouble. Elizabeth wasn't stupid. She knew that when William said they realised they were better off staying friends, she knew this was not accomplished through talking.

Consequently, Claudius had been hanging around the Wellington house again and Margaret was rather displeased about this, as her dislike for Claudius was rather obvious and she did nothing to conceal it. Though Thomas seemed to find Claudius an amiable person and a good match for William, Margaret still did not approve, as she claimed he was far too young. He was almost a good ten years William's junior, but as Thomas had told her, William was always going to act ten years younger than he really is.

Margaret was about to argue when Richard came pounding down the stairs in a maddening rage, crumpling a letter in his hand. He was mumbling incoherently to himself.

"What's wrong with you?" Elizabeth asked.

"Why do you care?" said Richard frigidly. He threw the letter at her. "Here. That's yours."

It had bounced off Elizabeth's chest and onto the table. She picked it up. "It's all crumpled," she whinged. "Richard, you git!"

"Elizabeth," said Margaret sternly. "What's wrong, Richard?"

"I can't talk to you about it."

"Why not?"

"Because," said Elizabeth, "that means it's about Penelope Clearwater."

It was not a secret that Richard had a not too well hidden crush on a Ravenclaw girl in his year named Penelope. She was a prefect too. Richard had often talked about her and the way her long, curly hair had fallen over her prefect badge sometimes in such a way it made his heart melt. The way he went on about her made Elizabeth feel nauseous. She certainly hoped she never wound up feeling that way about a boy. It was positively pathetic.

"Shut it, Elizabeth Ann!" Richard snapped.

"Richard, don't tell your sister to shut it," said Margaret. "What happened now?"

This seemed to be how every conversation at the table went. Either Richard or Elizabeth would say something to insult or offend the other and the result was always "Shut it." Margaret then had to tell them not to tell the other to shut it. Thomas seemed to be oblivious to the whole conversation and chimed in randomly whenever he had a thought.

"Nothing," Richard grumbled.

"Richard?"

"Maggie," Thomas piped up. "What happened boy?" he asked Richard.

"I don't wanna talk about it."

"He doesn't wanna talk about it, Maggie."

"I _heard_ him, Thomas. Why don't you want to talk about it, Richard?"

"_Maggie_," Thomas warned.

Elizabeth had uncrumpled the letter during all of this. It was from Ron. She folded it up and tucked it into her back pocket for later.

"This letter for me come with Hermes?" Elizabeth asked Richard.

Hermes was Percy Weasley's owl. Elizabeth was familiar with him because all of summer last year and now this year, Richard had been receiving letters from Percy via Hermes. Elizabeth was also certain that the Weasley family had come to know Richard's little feather duster of an owl, Telemachus, just as well as her family knew Hermes.

"That little git," Richard muttered. "I got Telemachus first and then _he_ had to get an owl and name it Hermes. Like I don't know why he did that. Git."

"Richard!" Margaret scolded him. "We do not use the word 'git' at the table."

"Yes ma'am," Richard mumbled. He slid his chair out and got up. "I'm going to the shop."

Elizabeth hadn't seen Richard this down since she was eight years old and he was her age now. Richard liked very much to build things in the way Muggle children would with blocks, or Lincoln logs. He had spent the entire summer holiday building a castle replica display for the bookshop out of the required reading list for Hogwarts. It apparently never occurred to Richard that the minute anyone came into buy their schoolbooks, the castle would have to be dismantled. He was not so upset about that as he was upset about Marcus Flint coming in and taking a book from the bottom of the castle so the whole thing toppled. Richard nearly burst out into tears at the loss of his work. Margaret did nothing to help this either. She made him clean all the books up and put them back on the shelves. Richard spent the rest of the holiday in his room. William and Claudius had then gotten the idea to buy him building blocks so his creations never had to be taken down unless he wanted them to, but it was no use. Richard didn't use them and he never built anything again, unless one counted the occasional toothpick battlements at Christmas dinner.

Elizabeth was almost going to let it go until Richard pushed her too far. She had been sent down to the bookshop to help by Margaret before she left for work. Elizabeth was busy reorganising all the books on Divination. They were piled to the ceiling and she was a good ten feet up on the ladder, clinging to it for dear life, while she moved books bigger than her head around. She wasn't afraid of heights. She quite liked them. She just didn't like the idea of what would happen if she were to fall, but she was going to find out, as Richard had smacked right into the ladder, causing it to wobble. She tried to keep her balance, but ultimately she dropped the books out of her hand first, which hit the ground rather quickly, catching the attention of Thomas at the counter.

Claudius had taken off shortly after breakfast was over and Thomas came back to the shop. While he spent all his free time with William, morning, noon, and night, he did have his own job he had to be at.

She clung to the ladder, but soon she slipped backwards and down she went. Just as she was about to hit the ground, she felt herself hover. Thomas was standing with wand out, pointed at her. Elizabeth's whole body was shaking as he lowered her down.

"Sorry," Richard mumbled.

Once safely on two feet again, Elizabeth threw one of the smaller Divination books at him, hitting him square in the back.

"Elizabeth Ann!" he screamed.

"Stop it," said Thomas. "Both of you."

"She started," mumbled Richard, going back to setting up the Gilderoy Lockhart display.

"You knocked me off the ladder, you git!" Elizabeth was outraged.

"Elizabeth," warned Thomas.

"But he knocked me on purpose!"

"I did not!" Richard defended himself.

"You did too! Gramps!"

"Would you two knock it off!"

Thomas rarely raised his voice. He was the calmest person in the house, often having to be the one to tell Margaret not to yell. He was non-confrontational by definition. He preferred that things never escalate, but Richard and Elizabeth made it so difficult sometimes that he just had to show authority over them.

"Elizabeth, go check the back room for any more of Lockhart's books."

"But —"

"I won't tell you again, Elizabeth."

"You always take his side!" she cried.

"If I take anyone's side repeatedly, it's your uncle's."

It was true. If there was an argument and Margaret was forcing him to take either her side or William's, he always went with William. Elizabeth was completely aware that the two of them played favourites. Margaret was much more proud of Nicholas who, like Richard, was a Ravenclaw prefect and gotten ten Os on his O.W.L.s. Richard had gotten ten Os this past year as well, complaining that the only reason he did not get twelve like Percy was because he was no good at things like Arithmancy and Ancient Runes. This still clearly impressed Margaret, whom bragged about Nicholas all the time and also bragged about Richard, clearly telling Elizabeth he was her favourite. Thomas however, very much enjoyed William, who was never a prefect, never a Ravenclaw, but had been one of the brightest students in his year and his entire house, which is not an easy task, especially for someone who was picked by so many professors as being last to succeed at anything. Thomas didn't have a clear favourite when it came to the grandchildren though. He still had William, so he need not pick a new one is what Elizabeth thought. Margaret no longer had Nicholas so she turned her praise to Richard. Either way, Elizabeth was positive in her mind that she was William's favourite and that's all that mattered to her.

Elizabeth stamped off into the back room. She was so mad at Richard that when she found some more of Lockhart's books, instead of taking them to him, she hurled them across the room, receiving plenty of disapproving looks from Thomas when she emerged and Richard was on his hands and knees picking them up from under the tables.

"Elizabeth," Thomas said. "Was that absolutely necessary?"

She didn't even stop to think. She put her hands on her hips and her facial expression turned sour. "Yes it was," she retorted. "He's a right prat."

Richard had tried to get up while underneath one of the tables and smacked his head right on the bottom of it. When he did manage to get out and stand up, his face was red and he was rubbing the back of his head. She couldn't take him seriously when he started yelling at her.

"You're such a bloody berk sometimes, Elizabeth Ann."

"Richard, don't use that language," scolded Thomas.

"But she is. She's a right blighter."

They both started arguing with each other and Thomas had enough.

"Both of you upstairs," he ordered.

As they climbed the stairs, Richard pushed Elizabeth and Elizabeth pushed him back.

"Get out of the way, Richard." She shoved him.

He shoved her back. "You move. I was here first."

He pushed Elizabeth so she fell backwards and down a few steps, landing on her back. She pulled herself up by the railing. "What's your problem, you jerk?" she said with tears in her eyes.

His face was as red as hers and he gripped the railing so hard the tips of his fingers were turning white. She stood up, facing him. He was a few steps above her, but she firmly stood her ground as she looked up at him.

"Just because Penelope Clearwater _still_ won't give you the time of day doesn't mean you should take it out on me!"

He was silent.

"She's dating him!" he finally yelled. "She chose Percy over me! Are you happy now? He saw his chance and went for it. Some best mate that is."

He ran up the last steps, throwing the front door open and running down the hall. She didn't really get Richard and she didn't really like him, but some best mate Percy was is just how she would have described it too. He knew that Richard had a crush on Penelope since the end of their third year and he swooped in under Richard's nose and asked her out. Elizabeth didn't want to say it to Richard, but if Penelope had chosen Percy over him, she clearly wasn't worth Richard's time in the first place.

Elizabeth followed him upstairs, but he was already in his room, door slammed and locked when she got into the kitchen. She had done it now. She had never upset Richard this much, not even the time she accidently broke the model solar system that William had bought him for Christmas when he was nine. Elizabeth was only five, she didn't mean to do it, but Richard never let it go nonetheless. William told him he would buy him another, but Richard refused. He'd rather stay mad at Elizabeth. He did have a terrible habit of holding grudges.

She climbed the stairs like a scolded puppy. She tapped on his door lightly.

"Richard," she said, her voice shaking. "Richard, I didn't mean it." When he didn't answer she knocked again. "Richard? Richard, can I at least have my penknife back?"

She had given him her penknife after teasing him a bit more. He never told her what he was using it for and she wished she had it right now to be able to unlock his door and apologise to his face. As much as she disliked Richard, he was her older brother and she knew, just like William with Nicholas, she would miss having him around when he was gone.

"Richard!" she banged again, but he wouldn't answer.

Feeling awful and defeated, she climbed the stairs to her bedroom. _Nature's Nobility: A Wizarding Genealogy_ was on her bed. She plopped down to continue reading it when she heard a crumpling noise. Remembering the wrinkled letter Richard had given her earlier. She jumped up, pulled it out of her back pocket, and sat down to read it instead. As quickly as she had sat down, she had jumped back up, running from her room with the letter.

"Richard!"

She barrelled out of her room, throwing the door into the wall, but not caring if it left a mark. She would deal with it later. At the moment she had more important matters. She sprinted to Richard's room and pounded on the door.

"Richard! Richard!" She slammed her small fists into the wood as hard as she could. She didn't care if it hurt. "RICHARD!"

Richard swung the door open. His face was twist into a scowl and his fist was clenched. The other hand was gripping the doorknob.

"What do you want?" he snapped.

Elizabeth held up the letter. "Ron! He went to get Harry!"

Richard had tried to calm her down so she was making sense to him. "Elizabeth," he said.

But she was lost in herself. "Oh, that fool. What was he thinking? Going to get Harry? How on earth did he expect to do that?"

"Elizabeth," Richard tried interrupting her.

"I mean, I suspect his aunt and uncle are mistreating him again too, but I'm not going to the Muggle world to get him. It's not my place."

"_Elizabeth Ann_ —"

"You know, I'm going to give him a piece of my mind. Right deserves it."

"Elizabeth!"

But she had already taken off to her room. She burst up the stairs and made right for her desk. She ripped open the drawer, expecting it to stop halfway, but it bust out of the slot and the contents went flying. The drawer itself smacked against Elizabeth's leg and she screamed in pain. Richard had come up the stairs, stopping on the middle step. Elizabeth dropped the drawer and it fell to the floor with a small dud noise. She bent down to pick up her items.

"Elizabeth Ann," he said. She picked up her quills, which lay scattered under the desk. "Hey you, what are you on about now?"

Elizabeth looked up. She was about to turn to snap at Richard when she caught a glimpse of the drawer slot. She stared into it. "Richard," she said quietly.

"What?" he asked. She pointed into the hole. "Oh, honestly, Elizabeth Ann, if it's another spider I'm gonna make you touch it."

Elizabeth hated spiders with her entire being. She was terrified of them ever since Richard had given her a book on acromantulas as a prank to scare her when she was little. Even the tiniest little spider petrified her with fear. Richard obviously regretted this decision, as he tried ever since to convince her that tiny little spiders like the ones they sometimes found in the bookshop were not going to harm her in any way. This never changed her mind and she still ran from the sight of them, screaming for anyone who would kill it. It was usually always Margaret, grinding the thin, tall heel of her shoes into the poor creature's body until all that was left was a mess of guts ground into the floor, just to make sure it was really dead. It was one of the very few nice things she did for Elizabeth.

Richard climbed the rest of the stairs and knelt at her side. "What is it now?" he asked.

Elizabeth turned her head to look up at him. "The letter's gone."

* * *

**A/N:** Along the timeline this would be somewhere after 3rd August, as O.W.L. results had come in, but before 19th August, which is when Lockhart was at Flourish & Blotts.


	3. Chapter Three

Time had passed. Richard and Elizabeth were back speaking to each other normally. He was a swot and she was a churl, as usual. She had looked all over her room for the letter and it was nowhere to be found. Richard had told her he had not taken it and to stop accusing him before he off and told Margaret about it all. Elizabeth kept quiet, knowing that if Margaret found out, she'd put an end to whatever William was up to and neither Richard nor Elizabeth wanted that. They knew William well enough by now to know if he was stealing letters and disappearing at random, he was on to something good.

Speaking of William, he had been in and out as he pleased. He'd be home for dinner, but gone by bedtime. He'd be there in the morning, but nowhere to be found come lunch. He would go missing for a few days and Margaret became quite used to this. So used to it actually that when he came home for extended periods, she would become frustrated at the sight of him. She really did have the most peculiar relationship with her youngest son.

It was the day of Gilderoy Lockhart's book signing and Elizabeth was none too chuffed about it. She had heard back from Ron, saying that Harry had made it to the burrow with him and the twins all right, but she was still angry nonetheless. Hermione didn't seem nearly as annoyed as Elizabeth when she had written her saying she had gotten a similar letter from Ron, but Hermione just didn't know that wherever there's a Weasley boy, there is certainly trouble.

Ron and Hermione had both written her back that they would be coming to Diagon Alley today to go school shopping and they would meet her in Flourish & Blotts with Harry as well. If they could ever find her through the crowds that was.

By 12:30 the shop was packed solid with middle age women pushing and shoving each other to get a look at Lockhart. Elizabeth didn't see what was so special about him. His wavy blond hair and forget-me-not blue eyes were making the women swoon. Elizabeth however, being only twelve, was not only not interested, she had already decided she rather disliked Mr. Lockhart immensely, as she had read through a few of his books and she considered them tosh. Elizabeth judged him solely on this fact and would not change her mind once it was made up. Gilderoy Lockhart was bunk to Elizabeth all because he couldn't properly write a book.

When she first received her Hogwarts letter, she immediately checked the book list and, to her horror, found it requiring seven of that fool's books and the usual standard book of spells. Each year the students were required to buy one of these for their appropriate grade level. Elizabeth thought it the only useful book on the list, probably because Lockhart didn't write it.

To nobody's surprise, the first book she read from the list was _Wanderings with Werewolves_. What a joke that had turned out to be. It was less about werewolves than she thought it would be, and what little part was actually about them only reenforced the stigma surrounding them, yet he clearly went on to say that he wished that harmony existed between all creatures, magical or not. She had tried to show this book to William, who quickly pushed it away saying he had already read it and would not be reading it again any time soon. William was always touchy when it came to the subjects of werewolves being treated as humans and not as monsters. It was very much where Elizabeth got her interest in them herself.

Elizabeth sat on the counter, barely able to see over the crowd in front of her. All she could see were puffs of purple smoke rising every time a short, irritable-looking man took a picture of Lockhart with a large black camera.

"Pathetic," grumbled Elizabeth, turning the page of her copy of Gilderoy Lockhart's _Voyages with Vampires_.

"And why is that?" Thomas asked.

"Because," said Elizabeth. She closed the book shut. "It has never once been this packed in here. Look," she pointed to the display Richard had set up earlier that week, "they've already knocked over Richard's display and I'm surprised they haven't torn the pictures down trying to steal them and take them home for their own personal collections."

Thomas lowered his glasses. "You've been talking to your uncle again, haven't you?"

"I have not!" she protested. His gaze remained firmly on her, disbelief in his eyes. "And even if I have, he's not wrong. Have you read this book?" She referred to the book in her hands.

"I have, Lizzie, and maybe you shouldn't be so quick to judge people solely on what they write."

"Whatever."

"You bloody git!" a voice shrieked.

There was no mistaking that sound. It wasn't Margaret yelling at William again, like usual. It was Richard. Both Thomas and Elizabeth had fixed their gazes on him instantly. It took no time to figure out what he was yelling about. Richard had encountered Percy, or rather it looked as if Percy had encountered Richard while he was off to restock some books and just couldn't hold his tongue. Richard never was the most levelheaded boy. He was red in the face and ready to drop all the books just to get at Percy.

"Uh oh," Elizabeth said. "Richard's gonna hit him."

"Richard's not going to hit anyone," said Thomas.

They couldn't hear Percy over the crowds. He was speaking at a normal tone, while Richard was irate and yelling.

"You get out here right now 'fore I teach you a thing!" Richard yelled.

"Richard's gonna hit him, Gramps," Elizabeth restated.

Thomas seemed to realise this now as well. He hesitated a moment before telling Elizabeth to stay put and ran over to Richard just in time to nearly tackle him as he dropped the books and a made an advance at Percy.

Elizabeth's household was never something she considered violent, but most wrong doings were accompanied by some sort of physical punishment. It was very common for Margaret to hit William while angry and she was angry so often it seemed. It wasn't the type of strike that caused swelling or bruising though. She left a red mark from the contact, which always faded quickly. She never hit him hard enough to do damage. Thomas insisted that this was just the way Margaret was brought up. Whenever she or Catherine misbehaved, they were promptly taught not to do it again. It was unclear if Thomas was brought up this way, as he never once raised a hand to any of them, but William said it was likely, as those were different times. It was even far different when he was growing up to complain in his schooldays that Margaret would right beat him if he brought home failing marks.

Elizabeth knew not every family functioned this way and she knew that some were a lot worse. She was also aware that she, like Margaret, was not above slapping someone's arm if they ran their mouth. William wasn't above knocking someone's teeth out if they hit him first, and Margaret and Thomas had spent that summer when he was fourteen deciding whether or not he had to apologise to the Avery boy for it. Ultimately he did, because they claimed punching someone in the face was not the way to handle dislike for them. Obviously, they should have told this to Richard as well, as he had plans to give Percy a black eye before Thomas intervened.

"Ladies and gentlemen," boomed a loud voice behind her.

Elizabeth just opened her book again and buried her face in it. She did not want to hear what he had to say. His fans already made enough mess to keep her and Richard busy for days. He did not need to excite them and create more.

"What an extraordinary moment this is!" continued Lockhart. "The perfect moment for me to make a little announcement I've been sitting on for some time! When young Harry here stepped into Flourish and Blotts today, he only wanted to buy my autobiography ─ which I shall be happy to present him now, free of charge ─"

At the sound of Harry's name, Elizabeth perked up. She closed her book and quickly discarded it on the counter. She soon leapt off the counter and began pushing her way through the crowds.

"He had no idea," Lockhart continued, "that he would shortly be getting much, much more than my book, _Magical Me_. He and his schoolmates will, in fact, be getting the real magical me."

Elizabeth hadn't even made it five feet, before she had encountered someone she was rather displeased to see.

"Running off to see Potter are you?" said a voice she knew all too well.

She continued through the crowd, him following her as she moved swiftly. "It's really none of your business now is it, Draco?" she said as dryly as possible.

"Yes, ladies and gentlemen, I have great pleasure and pride in announcing that this September, I will be taking up the post of Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher at Howgarts school of Witchcraft and Wizardry!"

Elizabeth stopped and Draco bumped into her, knocking her forward. He grabbed her shoulders as she stumbled, pulling her back into him, nearly toppling them both over. When they had both steadied, she could feel herself turning red with embarrassment.

"Sorry," she muttered.

Elizabeth was never one to care for Draco Malfoy. He was a rather rude, spoiled little prat that liked very much to insult her friends and did it every chance he could. He was rather jealous of Harry as well. She knew this simply by the fact he had spent all summer complaining of Harry. He usually annoyed Elizabeth rather well, but she dealt with him because Margaret said if she were to ever pull a stunt like what happened that one dinner party again, Elizabeth wouldn't be sitting down for an entire week and she meant it.

Elizabeth pushed through the rest of the crowd to Harry. She could just hear him as she approached him.

"You have these," Harry mumbled to Ginny, tipping the books Lockhart had given him into her cauldron. "I'll buy my own —"

"Bet you loved that, didn't you, Potter?" Unfortunately Draco had followed her again. "_Famous_ Harry Potter. Can't even go into a _bookshop_ without making the front page?"

Elizabeth turned to face him. "Knock it off, Draco," she said sternly.

Ginny spoke up rather abruptly. "Leave him alone, he didn't want all that!" She was glaring at Malfoy.

"Potter, you're got yourself two _girlfriends_!" drawled Malfoy.

Ginny went scarlet as Elizabeth quickly denied his accusations. "Oh, shove off, Draco." She tried to keep her cool.

"Oh, that's right, Elizabeth, I forgot you were already with Longbottom!" He smirked. "That's _worse_ than Potter over here."

Elizabeth clenched her fists. "Draco, shut it or you'll get a lot worse than that scar on your hand." Elizabeth clearly wasn't above hitting him either. Richard and she were two of a kind.

Ron and Hermione fought their way over, both clutching stacks of Lockhart's books.

"Oh, it's you," said Ron, looking at Malfoy as if he were something unpleasant on the sole of his shoe. "Bet you're surprised to see Harry here, eh?"

"Ron, stop it," said Elizabeth.

While Draco started his fair share of fights, it wasn't as if Ron just sat there. Plenty of times he was the instigator in these situations. Elizabeth had grown quickly tired of the two of them last year and could already tell this year would be no different.

"Not as surprised as I am to see you in a shop, Weasley," retorted Malfoy. "I suppose your parents will go hungry for a month to pay for all those."

Ron went as red as Ginny. He dropped all his books into the cauldron, too, and started toward Malfoy, but Harry and Hermione grabbed the back of his jacket.

Elizabeth placed a hand on Draco's chest to stop him. "Draco, I'm warning you," she said, looking him square in the eyes.

"Ron!" said Mr. Weasley, struggling over with Fred and George. Elizabeth turned her head to look at them. "What are you doing? It's too crowded in here, let's go outside."

Elizabeth felt Draco grab her hand off him and quickly let it fall. She immediately looked back to see why.

"Well, well, well — Arthur Weasley."

It was Mr. Malfoy. He stood with his hand on Draco's shoulder, sneering in just the same way. Elizabeth never cared for him at all.

"Lucius," said Mr. Weasley, nodding coldly.

"Busy time at the Ministry, I hear," said Mr. Malfoy.

Elizabeth knew he was starting trouble. She searched for any sign or sound of help, then she saw it: a snarling dark haired woman in high heels.

"Gran!" she called her over.

"All those raids...I hope they're paying you overtime?"

"Hey, Gran!" Elizabeth called louder.

Mr. Malfoy reached into Ginny's cauldron and extracted, from amid the glossy Lockhart books, a very old, very battered copy of _A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration_.

"Obviously not," Mr. Malfoy said. "Dear me, what's the use of being a disgrace to the name of wizard if they don't even pay you well for it."

"Oh my," muttered Elizabeth under her breath. She had to get Margaret's attention now before something happened. "Gran!"

Mr. Weasley had flushed darker than either Ron or Ginny. "We have a very different idea of what disgraces the name of wizard, Malfoy," he said.

"Margaret!" She was failing her arms about now as Margaret whipped around at the sound of her name. Her eyes narrowed. Elizabeth was waving her over frantically. She quickly caught sight of Mr. Weasley and Mr. Malfoy and rushed through the crowds.

"Clearly," said Mr. Malfoy, his pale eyes straying to Mr. and Mrs. Granger, who were watching apprehensively. "The company you keep, Weasley...and I thought your family could sink no lower —"

There was a thud of metal as Ginny's cauldron went flying; Mr. Weasley had thrown himself at Mr. Malfoy, knocking him backward into a bookshelf. Dozens of heavy spellbooks came thundering down on all their heads; there was a yell of, "Get him, Dad!" from Fred and George; Mrs. Weasley was shrieking, "No, Arthur, no!"; the crowed stampeded backward, knocking more shelves over; Richard was frantically screaming, "Not the shelves! I just stocked those!"; Thomas cried, "Gentlemen, please — please!"

The sound of clicking high heels approached and her shrill voice silenced them all. "STOP IT RIGHT NOW!" She had her wand pointed at both of them. "STOP IT!"

"Break it up, there, gents, break it up —"

Hagrid had pulled Mr. Weasley and Mr. Malfoy apart. Mr. Weasley had a cut lip and Mr. Malfoy had been hit in the eye by an _Encyclopedia of Toadstools_. He was still holding Ginny's old Transfiguration book. He thrust it at her, his eyes glittering with malice.

"Here, girl — take your book — it's the best your father can give you —"

"LUCIUS!" Margaret bellowed. "Get out! Both of you!"

Pulling himself out of Hagrid's grip he beckoned to Draco and swept from the shop.

"Yeh should've ignored him, Arthur," said Hagrid, almost lifting Mr. Weasley off his feet as he straightened his robes. "Rotten ter the core, the whole family, everyone knows that — no Malfoy's worth listenin' ter — bad blood, that's what it is — come on now — let's get out of here."

Margaret pulled Elizabeth to her, holding onto her by her shoulders. "Honestly," she said when they were gone. "Grown men fighting like that."

"Malfoy started it," Elizabeth said.

"I don't care who started it! It's improper and shows poor judgement. They should both have more sense than that! Don't you ever go fighting like that, Elizabeth."

"Yes ma'am."

Margaret fixed her hair. "Oh honestly," she said as she assessed the mess. "Richard! Get the ladder!"

She hurried off to apologise to Lockhart, who seemed rather pleased by the whole thing, asking the man from the _Daily Prophet_ if he could somehow work that into the report, as it would be marvelous publicity.

Elizabeth began picking up the books the best she could. Thomas was muttering to himself as he did the same.

"Sorry, Gramps," she said meekly.

"It's not your fault."

Thomas loved his bookshop. It was his life's ambition. He had been the proud owner since he was Claudius' age. Every day he spent his time there, stocking and organising books, ordering and arranging them. It had all been trashed in the matter of a few hours. Richard and her would be cleaning it up for days and she knew exactly where Thomas would be; quietly sulking in the brown leather chair in the parlour. He was just like Richard when it came to moping around.

"I'm really sorry about your shop, Gramps," she said.

"It's all right, Elizabeth. Nothing we can't fix."

Elizabeth was stacking books neatly next to her, just getting them out of the way so the crowds didn't step on them. She had picked up what looked to be a very old copy of _Hogwarts: A History_. When she held it up to put it on the stack, a small faded corner fell out of the side of the book. She looked up at Thomas, who was busy cleaning. Richard was already setting up the ladder and Margaret was still apologising to Lockhart. She quickly pulled on it, turning it out more to see what it was, but not pulling it out of its page. It was another letter. She quickly slipped it back into the book and tucked the book into the bottom corner of the last shelf behind her. She wasn't letting William get to this one first.

* * *

**A/N:** Plot and quotes from Harry Potter and The Chamber of Secrets by J.K. Rowling, chapter four, At Flourish and Blotts, pages 58 to 63.


	4. Chapter Four

Elizabeth had since retrieved the book from the shelf. It took her about a week of sneaking around while they all cleaned the mess to successfully snatch it and hide it in her room. She hadn't opened it yet. She barely had a chance to just sit down anymore. Margaret was running them ragged. She wanted the shop cleaned up and back in order as quickly as possible, which, Richard had commented, would have been so much easier if Thomas had just been allowed to use magic. Margaret insisted that they do things themselves, as it taught Richard and Elizabeth the value of hard work. Richard didn't seem to care for this, as he knew once he could, he would be using magic all the time outside of Hogwarts.

Elizabeth had no time to respond to the letters she had since received from Hermione. Not like Richard was going to let her send them with Telemachus anyway and she had sworn she wasn't going near Odysseus again unless it was an emergency. That bite from him took a month to heal completely last year and she did not want another. Richard was still sour about the whole deal with Percy and Penelope so he had shut himself up in his room with the little bird. Telemachus clearly wanted to fly though. He had ever since Richard and she had encouraged him last year. Well, Richard had encouraged him. Elizabeth had thrown poor Telemachus right out one of the Owlery windows and hoped he didn't splat on the ground. He could be heard flapping around in Richard's room and sometimes quite a ruckus went on in there. Elizabeth had assumed Telemachus had bust out of his cage again by the way Richard was yelling at him to behave himself. Richard was awfully fond of Telemachus though. He coddled that little owl like a baby.

The last days of summer had passed and things had returned to normal in that time. The bookshop did finally get back to normal. Thomas had to eventually use some magic when neither Richard nor Elizabeth could move books as tall as them around. Richard had decided he wasn't talking to Percy anymore until he at least admitted to stealing Penelope out from under him, and Percy had thought this was absolute rubbish of Richard, so the two were still not speaking. William had also returned from whatever hunt he was on, which seemed to only add to Margaret's stress level as now she had three children to clean up after.

William was always the messiest member of the household. He could never keep things tidy in the way Margaret liked. Instead, William made piles. His bed was piles of blankets and pillows. He never hung his clothes in his cupboard, instead he piled them on the cupboard floor. His desk was covered in piles of books arranged according to subject. They were mostly Charms books, as William always was better at Charms than he was anything else. Professor Flitwick had told Elizabeth last year about William being the brightest student he ever had and how he cried for days when William quit the Charms club at Hogwarts his sixth year. Clubs were never really something she saw William being involved in and he declined the Slug Club several times he said. William always was the type to avoid positions of recognition. That is until he became an Auror and spent every day making sure he was going to be Scrimgeour's replacement as Head of the Aurors when he retired. Thomas said this was because he was trying to make Nicholas proud. Elizabeth thought it was foolish to try to impress the dead.

William wasn't even up on the morning Richard and Elizabeth were set to leave for Hogwarts again. Elizabeth was excited to be starting her second year. She was ready to get back to her friends in Gryffindor, Quidditch matches, and yes, even lessons. She had missed it, just like her uncle had told her she would.

By nine am, both Richard and Elizabeth were dressed, ready, and packed. They had eaten their breakfast, brushed their teeth, and cleaned up what was left in their bedrooms. Elizabeth had even let Margaret put an Alice band in her hair to keep it out of her eyes. Thomas had asked Elizabeth not to argue at breakfast, as Margaret was already annoyed that William was running late, so she just let Margaret fix her hair.

William had managed to roll out of bed a little more than half an hour before he had to take Richard and Elizabeth to King's Cross Station. He had stumbled into the kitchen, his shirt on backwards, his hair a right mess, and a scratch below his right eye that was swollen and vibrant red. Elizabeth and Richard were silent as he crept into the kitchen, over to the refrigerator, removed the previous night's left over casserole, and took it back to his room with a fork and a glass of water.

Richard laughed. "Wonder what he hit now."

William Wellington was a creature of habit. It was never easy to tell exactly what he was doing, but there were clues to give a vague idea, like when his nose twitched, he was up to something mischievous, or when he rubbed his burn mark, he felt remorse for something he had done. When he woke up late with scratches and took food back to his room that only meant one thing; he had flown into something again. He was a terribly clumsy owl.

"Richard, hush," said Margaret. She walked to the beginning of the hallway off the kitchen. Her voice was low and hissing. "Is he serious?" She gawked at his bedroom door, hanging over so that her necklace dangled. She pulled back upright, her hands on her hips. "I'm gonna give him —"

"Gran, I need him to get my trunk," interrupted Elizabeth.

"Oh, for Merlin's sake!" Margaret threw her hands up in frustration. She stomped to his bedroom door and pounded on it. "Get out here. Your niece needs you to get her trunk."

"I'll get it in a minute." His voiced was muffled by the closed door.

"Gran," Elizabeth whinged.

"William!" Margaret knocked again.

"I'm gettin' changed!"

Elizabeth hugged the corner of the kitchen wall, peering down the hallway. "Gran," she said again, "I can't get it down the stairs on my own."

"I _know_, Elizabeth," Margaret said annoyed.

"Gran, I _need_ Uncle William to get it."

"I know, Elizabeth!" She knocked again. "William!"

"I'm coming!" he yelled.

Margaret sighed. She gently pushed Elizabeth off the wall and towards the staircase. "Ask Richard," she said. "Richard!"

"What?"

Richard came down strolling down the stairs, carrying his trunk with ease. He always was surprisingly strong. He was very handy around the shop for this reason. He could carry books heavier than Elizabeth with no trouble at all. Margaret also used him around the house. He could lift the settees, move the beds, and even hold up the washing machine long enough for Margaret to retrieve any money that had fallen out of Thomas' trouser pockets. He was always forgetting to clean them out before turning them in for wash.

Elizabeth wondered why Richard never tried out for his house Quidditch team, as he certainly had the build for it. She thought he would make a good keeper, as he always could catch whatever she threw at him as long as his back wasn't turned, which is why she often sunk so low as to hit him when he wasn't paying attention. He always said it was because Margaret said neither of them were allowed to play since she thought it was dangerous. Elizabeth knew that if he really wanted to play he wouldn't listen to Margaret's disapproval and do it anyway. She knew there had to be another reason he didn't try and she never could get that answer out of him.

"Could you get your sister's trunk for her?" Margaret asked.

"Why can't she get it?" He put his trunk down at the bottom of the stairs.

"Gran," Elizabeth whinged again. "Uncle William's gotta get it."

Margaret put her hands on her hips. "No, he doesn't," she said firmly. "Richard, get her trunk."

Richard's upright posture slouched a bit. He clearly wasn't happy being told to help Elizabeth. He never did want to be bothered with her.

Elizabeth tugged on Margaret's skirt. "No, Uncle William's gotta get it," she repeated.

"Gotta get what?" William had emerged from his room, adjusting his shirt.

Margaret spun around to look at him. "What happened to your eye now?" She pointed to the scratch.

William ran his fingers over it gingerly. "I ran into the side of the gutter last night coming home."

Richard smiled. "I told you so."

Margaret glared at him. "Richard, go get Elizabeth's trunk."

Richard tapped Elizabeth's arm and nodded for her to follow him upstairs.

Margaret walked to the freezer. "And you come here," she said to William. She opened the freezer door and cold air burst out. Her breath could be seen as she talked. "You need this." She rummaged in the freezer.

William groaned. "Oh, Mum, I'm not a little kid anymore."

Margaret closed the freezer door. In her hand she held an ice pack.

"She's got the ice pack," Elizabeth whispered to Richard as they reached her bedroom door.

Margaret grabbed William and pressed it to his cheek. William looked absolutely defeated with his mother making such a fuss over a little cut.

"Better not let her see that bruise on your shoulder," Richard muttered, opening her door.

He and Elizabeth had been cleaning in the shop when he accidently dropped a book from the top of the ladder and it landed right on Elizabeth's shoulder. She had developed quite a large mark from it.

"Or the one on your shin," said Elizabeth.

Elizabeth, not being the most civil of sisters, of course had to retaliate, even if it was an accident. He therefore had a nice little bruise on his shin, that if were to be compared to Elizabeth's right foot, would be remarkably similar in size.

When they had retrieved her trunk and returned downstairs, William was sitting at the table hunched over, the ice pack pressed to his cheek. Margaret was watching him.

"You keep that there!" she said as he tried to remove it to see Elizabeth come down the stairs with Richard.

Richard dropped Elizabeth's trunk on the floor and went back to his room to retrieve a caged and restless Telemachus.

"I'm not taking this out in public," William muttered.

"If you didn't hurt yourself, you wouldn't need it at all," said Margaret. "Right?"

William groaned. He was well aware that he was a bit of a bumbling klutz. He couldn't go very long without acquiring some scratch, bruise, cut, bump, or burn. He didn't need to be reminded of it every two minutes, and he certainly did not need to be babied at thirty-two years of age still.

"May we go now?" he asked, rather annoyed.

"Fine," Margaret said. "Home for dinner though."

"Whatever," William mumbled as he threw the ice pack on the table and picked up Elizabeth's trunk to carry it off down the entrance hall.

"Bye Gran!" Elizabeth said, following after him and Richard.

They trotted off in a line down the stairs into the bookshop. They marched along passed Thomas at the counter, Elizabeth leading the way.

"Bye Gramps!" she said cheerfully. "See ya at Christmas."

Thomas laughed at her enthusiasm. "See you soon, Lizzie. Bye, Richard."

"See you, Gramps," said Richard as he passed the counter.

William stopped in front of Thomas. "Is my face all red?"

"Just over here," Thomas said, motioning to the right side of his face.

"Great," said William.

"She get you with an ice pack again?"

"As always. Be home for dinner, Dad."

William held the door open and they all piled through out into Diagon Alley. Elizabeth took a last look at all of the shops. The next time she saw the winding street lined with witches and wizards of all sorts, it would be covered in snow and barely recognisable. It always looked like a different place in winter than it did in summer to her.

Their journey to the platform was never a fun one. It involved leaving Diagon Alley through The Leaky Cauldron and then keeping up with William as he took them on the underground from Charing Cross Road to King's Cross Station. Of course, the hardest part came once at the station and making it to platform nine and three-quarters without getting lost, losing William, or being late. He had to make it as difficult as possible though. That was just how he was.

They reached the barrier with time to spare, unlike last year when they were rushing. Richard went through first, as Telemachus never did like the method to get to onto the platform. He squawked and squeaked while flapping around as Richard ran his trolley right through the wall.

"You first," said William, offering the way to Elizabeth.

She rolled her eyes. "Your face is still red," she said before running at the barrier with her trolley. William rubbed his face as he followed after her.

"Is not!" he exclaimed. How silly of him, she thought, since he couldn't actually see so he didn't know if it was or wasn't.

She revelled in the familiar sight of the Hogwarts Express. Soon enough she would be back at school, far away from her grandmother and with less of Richard to deal with. Of course, school had a whole different set of annoyances for Elizabeth. While there were no tempestuous grandmothers and a minimum of pretentious older brothers, there were plenty of irritating roommates, infuriating Slytherins, and one seriously bitter and greasy Potions professor. Now she also had to look forward to the incredibly ostentatious Gilderoy Lockhart.

William put his hands on her shoulders. She winced when he touched her bruise.

"Ouch!" She wiggled out of his grip, rubbing her shoulder.

He put his hands up and backed away. "What I do?"

"Richard dropped a book off the ladder this week. Hit me square in the shoulder." William laughed. "It really hurts, Uncle William. Kicked him good in the shin for it, I did."

"I believe you," William said, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her into him. "Where did Richard get off to?"

"Probably yelling at Percy again." Elizabeth tried to wriggle away from him. "Uncle William!"

"I don't see Mrs. Weasley anywhere."

He was right. Elizabeth looked as far up and down the platform as possible and couldn't find even one head of ginger hair. There was no short, plump Mrs. Weasley hanging onto Ginny's hand. There was no sight of either Fred or George. She couldn't see Percy strutting around in his Hogwarts robes, a prefect badge displayed proudly on his chest. Most importantly, she could not find Ron.

"I don't see Ron," said Elizabeth. She stood on her tiptoes, but she still had no views of any of the Weasleys. "Or Harry."

"Already on the train?" William suggested.

Elizabeth shook her head. "Mrs. Weasley always sticks around until the train leaves. She wouldn't have taken off early."

Richard came strolling up to them. "Anyone seen Percy?" he asked. "Wanna give him a piece of my mind before we get on the train."

"Haven't seen any of the Weasleys," said Elizabeth. "They're missing."

"They're not missing," said William. "They're probably just on the train already."

"Mrs. Weasley never leaves before the train," said Richard.

"I told you," said Elizabeth.

This seemed not to convince William, as he sent them off with some money for the trolley and a few promises of being there to get them at Christmas. He was every year though. She knew that Margaret made him. She had hugged William goodbye and followed Richard onto the train, who dumped her and her trunk into the first empty compartment he could find before taking off to the prefect's compartments.

Elizabeth sat down as the train started to pull away. She could see William standing on the platform, hands tucked in pockets, talking to Mr. Weasley. Elizabeth sighed a sigh of a relief. Ron and Harry must have made it on the train all right. She smiled as William made an awkward face. Surely Mr. Weasley was talking his ear off about Muggles again. William liked Muggles, but he was just simply not as fascinated as Mr. Weasley. Mr. Weasley once spent an entire month asking William the purpose of owls in the Muggle world, as he noted William's fondness of the creatures. When William had originally told him that owls are just animals to Muggles, not pets and mail carriers like to them, he was simply enthralled. He spent the rest of the month asking all about the habit and lives of Muggle owls. William, of course, knew none of this. He instead bought Mr. Weasley a book on owls, but this only made him curious of Muggle reading material. He was quite the inquisitive fellow.

She watched as the scenery started to pass by the window. She pulled on the silver chain around her neck until a walnut sized silver heart emerged from her shirt. She grabbed a hold of it and began to trace the winding designs with her thumb while staring out the window. She often did this absent-mindedly when she was nervous.

She had received the locket last year as a Christmas present from her uncle. He wouldn't tell her where he got it or how much it was worth, but it must have been awful expensive because whenever he was around, it was the first thing he asked about. He made sure that she wore it as much as possible, and when she wasn't wearing it, he made sure she knew where it was at all times. It had beautiful patterns etched into its shiny surface. She was heartbroken that she could not open it no matter how hard she tried. It was as if it was magically sealed. It was terribly typical of William Wellington to give a present that failed to fulfill its purpose.

It wasn't long before Elizabeth went to find Harry and Ron. She slid the compartment door open to come face to face with Hermione Granger, already dressed in her school uniform. It was perfectly characteristic of Hermione to be fully dressed already when they still had hours to go before arriving at Hogwarts. She did have an awful habit of being a tad bit pompous. Personality wise, Elizabeth considered her a female version of Percy. Elizabeth had the confidence to tell Percy to get lost when needed. She could never tell Hermione to piss off though. She would feel too guilty, especially after the way Ron and she had treated Hermione last year. She would never admit that she didn't actually mind Hermione at all, but then again neither would Ron. They would just be stubborn fools together.

"There you are," said Hermione. "I've been looking all over for you, Harry, and Ron." Hermione looked into the compartment. "Where's Harry and Ron?"

"I was just going to look for them," said Elizabeth.

"You haven't seen them either?"

"I thought they were with you."

"I thought they were with _you_."

They both stop to think for a second.

"Think they sat with the twins?" Elizabeth asked.

She really hoped William was right and they hadn't missed the train. She didn't want to think of a year without Ron and Harry. More so, she didn't want to think of a year alone with Hermione. Elizabeth followed her down the train looking for any sign of them. They spent hours searching compartment after compartment, stopping to talk with Richard for a while, who was rather unhelpful as all he did was complain of Percy the minute Hermione asked where he was. They had spent an hour hearing all about Percy, then how much Richard was infatuated with Penelope Clearwater, and finally how Percy stole Penelope. Elizabeth knew that Richard was her brother and she was supposed to care about his feelings, but why did he have to have so many?

They had been down to ask Oliver Wood and the rest of the Gryffindor Quidditch team for any signs of Harry and he hadn't been spotted by any of them. Hermione had asked Lavender and Parvati, as Elizabeth would rather keep all conversation with those two to an absolute minimum. They were of absolutely no help at all. Both of them knew they wouldn't. Hermione and Elizabeth didn't agree on much, but they both agreed that while they would be civil to Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil, they weren't going out of their way to befriend them. Elizabeth even found the courage to go ask Lee Jordan if he'd seen any of them while he was showing that pet of his around.

"Disgusting," Elizabeth shivered. "Did you see it, Hermione? It's all hairy and grosssssss—" Elizabeth shuddered just remembering it.

"Talking about Potter _again_, Elizabeth?" came a cold, drawling voice.

Elizabeth sighed. She didn't even need to turn around, but she did. "You think you're hilarious, Draco." She was face to face with him, or rather face to chest, as he was taller than her. Everyone was taller than her, except titchy Professor Flitwick.

"Finally get a good look at him?" Draco was finding himself quite comical at the moment.

"Nope," said Elizabeth. "Got quite a glance of your mother though." Elizabeth faked shuddering.

Draco's smirk turned into a scowl. "Better not get yourself involved with the likes of _this_ one." He examined Hermione up and down with a look of disgust on his face. "This mud—"

"Don't even say it, Draco!" Elizabeth raised her voice.

She knew what he was going to say. She didn't agree with such a term and it certainly wasn't something one said in acceptable conversation. Elizabeth snatched Hermione's arm and dragged her off down the train, as far away as she could get from Draco Malfoy and his pure-blood elitist attitude.

"What was he going to call me?" Hermione asked.

"Nothing you ever want to be called," Elizabeth said, ending the conversation. Elizabeth stopped and spun to face Hermione. "And if he ever says something about dirty blood again, you hit him." Elizabeth continued down the train. "Come on."

Elizabeth was fuming at Draco. He was lower than low sometimes and the things he said made her want to knock all his teeth out and shove them down his throat. More than once had he called her family blood traitors, her grandfather a giant lover, her uncle a Muggle lover, and said she was going to turn out just like the lot of them if she wasn't careful. Elizabeth didn't care about blood status. Like Thomas always told her and Richard, whether someone was a Muggle or a wizard, it didn't make them any less or more of a person. Some Muggles were the nicest people, like Hermione's parents, and some pure-bloods were the foulest, like the Malfoys. Of course, plenty of Muggles were foul and plenty of pure-bloods were kind. It just depended on the individual and not their lineage.

It had fallen dark in this time and the train ride was nearing its end. There was still no sign of Harry and Ron anywhere. Hermione and Elizabeth were rather worried, as they had been up and down the entire length of the train, more than once, in and out of every compartment, and they still hadn't found the boys. The train pulled to a stop and students clamoured outside. Elizabeth and Hermione stuck close, not wishing to get separated. They could see Richard completely sour as he stood with the other prefects, Percy and Penelope walking together in front of him. They could also see Lee Jordan and the twins. They certainly looked like they were up to something. They could even see Ginny being led with the other first years to the boats, but no Ron or Harry.

They followed up the platform, searching the entire way for a tall ginger and a mess of black hair with glasses, but they had found neither by the time they were ushered to a rough mud track. A hundred stagecoaches awaited them. Hermione had climbed inside one. Elizabeth went to follow her when a voice called her name.

"Liz!"

It was Neville, running towards her, carrying Trevor in his hands.

"Come on, Neville," Elizabeth said, guiding him towards their coach. He stopped suddenly, staring at the front of the coach. "What's wrong?"

"Do you see that horse?" he asked a little frightened.

Elizabeth looked at the front of the coach. "What horse?"

"The bony black one with wings."

"Neville, there's no horse there."

"It's pulling the coach."

"There's nothing pulling the coach, Neville."

"It's right there," he pointed. "It looks like a skeleton."

Elizabeth just looked at him before helping him up into the coach with Hermione. She got in after him and sat across from Neville, occasionally stealing glances at him. Elizabeth was quite surprised. She had heard all about what he saw from William, who could see them too. Neville could see thestrals.

* * *

**A/N:** Description of the coaches from Harry Potter and The Prisoner of Azkaban by J.K. Rowling, chapter five, The Dementor, page 87.


	5. Chapter Five

The ride to the castle was bumpy. Elizabeth was quiet, occasionally watching Neville. She never would have guessed, but then again Neville always was surprising her. Hermione had asked him if he saw Ron or Harry. Of course, he hadn't. No one had. It was really beginning to worry them.

Elizabeth had spoken up to ask Neville about his summer. She missed him at Flourish and Blotts this year. They were awfully busy this passed holiday though, so Richard and she had barely seen any of their friends, apart from the fight at Gilderoy Lockhart's book signing. Margaret still wasn't over that and Elizabeth wondered if she would ever forgive Mr. Weasley and Mr. Malfoy. Elizabeth didn't care if Margaret ever forgave Malfoy, but she did hope she would stop insulting Mr. Weasley by the time Richard and she came home for winter holidays. It was getting as old as her insulting William.

The coach swayed to a stop and they piled out. They made their way up the stone steps to the castle. Elizabeth peered around with no luck. She sighed when her eyes caught Hermione's again. They were pushed in through the giant oak doors with the rest of the students and led into the Great Hall. Innumerable candles were hovering in midair over four long, crowded tables, making the golden plates and goblets sparkle. Overhead, the bewitched ceiling, which always mirrored the sky outside, sparkled with stars. They took their seats at the Gryffindor table. Elizabeth looked up to the staff table. Gilderoy Lockhart was there in robes of aquamarine. Elizabeth couldn't believe that someone was louder in terms of colour than her uncle, but he certainly was. Hagrid sat at the end of the table and she could see Professor Sprout talking to Professor Flitwick. McGonagall's seat was empty, as she always greeted the first years and prepared them for sorting, but there was another empty spot: the seat of a far less liked Professor.

"Where's Snape?" Elizabeth said to Hermione.

Elizabeth never was very fond of Professor Snape. He hated Gryffindor and took points from them all the time, often without justification. He would never take points from his own house: Slytherin. He also seemed to favour Draco Malfoy, which just made Elizabeth like him less. Her uncle claimed to dislike him, calling him a greasy git, but he did seem not to mind him terribly, even sending him a letter last year. Professor Snape had often told Elizabeth during class that her uncle was the same kind of insolent fool in his schooldays that she was. She thought he was lying just as much as William. He had caught Elizabeth saying she wished to give Draco a shrinking potion to let him feel how small of a person he really is. Professor Snape had snapped around immediately, but instead of taking points from her, he had said that William could slip almost anyone any potion and they would never notice until the effects set in. He called this behaviour abhorrent and childish, but she swore his cold voice had a twitch of warmth when he said this. _Then_ he told her she didn't have the skills to do such a thing and took five points from Gryffindor. He truly was a git.

Hermione looked to the staff table. "Maybe he's gone missing with Harry and Ron," she said, annoyed.

"Shut it, Hermione."

Before the first years had been led in for sorting, Elizabeth saw Percy not far down from them. She looked back at the Ravenclaw table to make sure Richard wasn't watching before calling his name. Richard would certainly have a few choice words for her if she was caught fraternising with his enemy. It didn't matter that only two months ago, Percy was Richard's best friend. He had made up his mind that Percy backstabbed him and he refused to talk to him. He also told Elizabeth she was foolish for still being on good terms with any of the Weasleys, but Thomas told him to hold his tongue, as they were nice people and Elizabeth could speak with whomever she wished. Richard finally let her talk to Ron without any snarky comments, but if he ever caught her talking to Percy again, he would have a right fit.

"Percy!" she called. Percy looked around for the origin of the sound. "Hey, Percy, over here!"

His eyes fell on her finally. "Oh, Elizabeth."

"Where's your brother?"

"Which one?"

She thought it was stupid of him to ask which one she was referring to. It's not like she ever willingly went looking for the twins and she certainly wasn't talking about Bill or Charlie.

"_Ron_."

"I haven't seen him since we got on the train. Oh, shh! The first years are coming in."

Professor McGonagall had led the first years in for sorting. The Sorting Hat began to sing, but Elizabeth never did listen to it. She found it awfully strange that it could speak and sing, even if she was a witch and had seen plenty more peculiar things in her lifetime. She also thought that her grandfather had to be awfully fond of it. He did like silly hats, and the sorting hat was certainly silly. It had finished its song and rested patiently on the stool, waiting for its next job.

McGonagall gave the first years the same speech she had given the first years last year about trying on the hat when their name was called. Elizabeth saw Ginny Weasley, looking far more composed than her brother Ron did when he was sorted. She liked Ginny and knew she would be a Gryffindor, no doubt, just like the rest of her family. She never thought Ron would be placed anywhere else either, she just liked taunting him with the possibility before they came to school when he was rude to her.

The hat started shouting out houses as students took the stool. A small, mousy-haired boy was the first to be sorted into Gryffindor. The table clapped and cheered as he dashed to an open seat. Elizabeth was distracted by Hermione hissing in her ear as the next student was called.

"I don't see Harry and Ron _anywhere_," said Hermione. Elizabeth hushed her, to no avail. "I _can't_ believe them. What _exactly_ do they plan to do if they did miss the train?"

Elizabeth hushed her again. "Quiet, Hermione."

Only two more students managed to get sorted before Hermione was at it again.

"Well, _honestly_, Elizabeth," she hissed. "Now what are they going to do about their schooling?"

"I don't know, Hermione," she whispered.

"We'll just have to tell Dumbledore about their situation and hope he can do something."

"We don't even know what's going on. I'm not going to Dumbledore."

"Well, I just hope —"

But Elizabeth was done listening to Hermione. She was an incredibly stubborn child that would simply ignore those when she wanted the conversation to end. She did this to Margaret once in a moon blue with terrible consequences, as one would imagine. Margaret always did make them listen to everyone, even old Uncle Oscar when he rambled on about his train sets. Elizabeth usually wasn't the kind to be so rude as she was at that moment, but she had heard enough of Hermione's nagging as they wandered the train searching. Hermione never did know when to let a subject rest.

Elizabeth leaned over to Neville, rested her elbow on the table, turned her back to Hermione. She could hear her scoff.

"What's your Uncle Algie think of all the magic you learned last year?" Elizabeth asked him.

Neville had told her all about his great uncle, Algie, last year. He had tried several times to get Neville to show magical ability when he was younger, going as far to almost drown him. Of course, he didn't mean it. He was just trying in his own extremist way to encourage Neville. When he dropped Neville out a window and he bounced, Algie was so proud, he bought him Trevor. She figured he would have been ecstatic to hear about all the magic Neville had learned at school, even if Neville wasn't very good at it.

Neville looked at her timidly. "Well...at least I'm not a squib he says." Neville looked down as he said this.

Elizabeth smiled. "Hey, improper magic is still some magic, right?"

Neville looked up. "I guess you're right."

"You'll get better at it in no time. I'm sure of it."

"Thanks, Liz."

Elizabeth did find herself to be quite fond of Neville. Others may not have thought much of him, but she did. He was a good friend to all of them, despite being a bit of a coward sometimes, lacking confidence with magic, and being the target of Professor Snape's ridicule every time they had Potions. Thomas did frequently tell Richard and her not to underestimate people, as they will surprise you when you least expect it, and Neville certainly was full of surprises she thought.

When Elizabeth had turned her attention back to the sorting, most of the students had been sorted, from a boy with the last name Harper that was sorted into Slytherin, to a peculiar looking girl named Luna that wound up in Richard's house. Nearly all the students had been called and it was little Ginny Weasley's turn. She was looking a little nervous now, but nothing like Ron, who nearly fainted at his sorting. She took the stool.

The hat cried out, "GRYFFINDOR!"

Cheers erupted from the table. Elizabeth stood up clapping at first, then waved Ginny over. Fred and George whooped loudly, calling Ginny's name as she scurried to the Gryffindor table. Elizabeth pushed Hermione over to make room. She pulled Ginny down between them. She was blushing as Percy leaned down the table to congratulate her. Hermione did the same as she sat down and others around them all introduced themselves to Ginny, saying various things she'd love about Gryffindor.

Elizabeth noticed Neville shying away and grabbed him by the arm, pulling him across her. "Ginny, this is Neville. Say hi, Neville."

"C-con-congratulations on the sorting, Ginny," he squeaked out.

Ginny blushed redder as Elizabeth let Neville go. Elizabeth felt compelled more often than not to give Neville a little shove out of his comfort zone. She never meant it to be cruel. She just thought he needed a little encouragement if he was to do things.

Ginny looked around the table. "You still haven't seen Ron and Harry?"

Hermione and Elizabeth had found Ginny sitting with some other first year girls on the train. When they had asked about Ron and Harry, the girls giggled at Harry's name and Ginny blushed, but none of them had seen him.

Hermione leaned over Ginny to hiss at Elizabeth. She didn't even have to hush Hermione before she started. Dumbledore started speaking, doing it for her.

"Welcome!" said Dumbledore. Hermione snapped back to her seat, but not without a foul look on her face. "Welcome to another year at Hogwarts! I have a few beginning of term announcements to make."

Hermione was quickly back at it, unable to hold her tongue, making Dumbledore's words hard to hear. "I _told_ you, Elizabeth. They missed the train!"

"Hermione!" Elizabeth had enough of this for one night, but knowing Hermione, there was no stopping her now that she was started.

"What're they gonna do?" asked Ginny, literally in the middle of their argument.

"We're going to have to tell Dumbledore," said Hermione.

"No!" exclaimed Elizabeth. "Not without being sure that Harry and Ron missed the train.

"Look around, Elizabeth. What more indication could there be?"

"Harry and Ron missed the train?" Neville spoke up.

"Yes, they did and now they're both in big trouble," said Hermione in a dead certain tone.

"No, they're not," Elizabeth retorted. "We don't know what happened to Ron and Harry yet, Neville."

"Harry and Ron missed the train?" Seamus Finnigan said.

Harry and Ron's two other roommates, Seamus and Dean Thomas were across the table and not more than two seats down from Elizabeth. They were now watching Elizabeth and Hermione, drawing the attention of the entire house table as they mentioned that Harry Potter missed the train. Widespread whispers reached up and down the Gryffindor table at lightning speed. Percy and the twins had fixed their gazes firmly on Elizabeth, Hermione, and Ginny.

"Do you see what you started, Hermione?" Elizabeth was now downright angry. "Now the whole ruddy school is gonna be talking." Elizabeth pointed at Hermione as she opened her mouth. "One more word and I'll silence you," she threatened.

Dumbledore continued speaking, obviously not having noticed the hushed commotion happening at his former house's table. "I am also proud to say we have a new staff member this year. Professor Lockhart will be taking over the Defence Against the Dark Arts position."

Lockhart stood up, flashing a white smile and waving. Waves of giggles and sighs could be heard from girls all over the Great Hall, including Hermione Granger, who smiled suddenly and gripped Ginny's arm. The outburst of love sick girls created the perfect cover for the rumours to spread from Gryffindor to Hufflepuff next to them.

"Now, let the feast begin!" said Dumbledore.

The gold plates and goblets filled with food and drink. Elizabeth knew Hermione too well to think she would be quiet just because it was time for the feast. She said something before Hermione even got the chance.

"Shut it and eat, Hermione."

"I wasn't going —"

"Eat! You've caused enough trouble for one night, don't you think?"

Hermione Granger wasn't the type to cause trouble. She liked rules and following them. She was constantly telling Harry, Ron, and Elizabeth that their reckless disregard for authority and regulations would get them all expelled. Of course, this never stopped Hermione from helping them when they asked her. She would nag them the entire time that they would all be in serious trouble when Filch caught them, or when McGonagall found out they would all lose house points for Gryffindor. They put up with it though because Hermione was very useful after all, and she was their friend, even if they had never said it aloud.

Hermione fell silent, but not without a scowl plastered on her face. Elizabeth went back to her food, but it was too late. Conversation had broken out all over the Great Hall. The rumours had now spread from the Hufflepuff table to the Ravenclaw table next to them. Everyone was talking about it. Harry Potter missed the train. The Slytherins were laughing, clearly overjoyed by the time the news got to them. Gryffindor was in an uproar, everyone asking questions like "Who will be the new Quidditch seeker?" and "How will we win the house cup this year?"

Elizabeth could hear bits of conversations asking what had happened, genuinely concerned about Harry, and bits of others simply angry that now Slytherin was dead sure to win the house cup again. Elizabeth hated when Richard got sore that Slytherin won the house cup. Last year broke their seven year streak, but now without Harry, the three other houses were doubting they could beat out the prejudiced house. Even whispers were being exchanged up and down the staff table as Professor Snape burst into the hall to retrieve Professor McGonagall and Professor Dumbledore. The entire hall was silent until they left, then conversation erupted louder than ever.

"Where are they going?" asked Hermione.

"I don't have a good feeling about this," said Elizabeth, clutching at the heart locket around her neck.

Hermione grabbed a pumpkin pastry. "I told you, Elizabeth," she said smugly. "They are certainly in trouble now."

It seemed the entire hall was agreeing with Hermione as rumours spread from student to student, table to table. Students were speculating the events that had unfolded. Some were saying that Harry's aunt and uncle refused to let him return to Hogwarts after last year's events. Others said that Harry had chosen not to return, opting for a quiet Muggle life instead. Then there were one or two that were simply preposterous, such as that Harry and Ron had been kidnapped by Muggles to be harnessed for their magic and the Ministry was currently on a rescue mission to save them. Elizabeth thought all these were ridiculous. Harry's relatives were simply ecstatic to get rid of him for the year and he considered Hogwarts the only home he really had. The rumours about the supposed kidnapping Muggles looking for magic was stupid, Elizabeth thought. Muggles would have to be down right moronic if they kidnapped Ron for magic.

The hall fell silent as Professor Dumbledore and Professor Snape returned. Shortly after, Professor McGonagall came back. Whispers were still heard around the hall as they took their seats at the staff table, but mostly it had died down. They finished their meal, not daring to speak louder than hushed voices and strained murmurs. The plates and goblets cleared away and Professor Dumbledore got up to make his last moment announcements.

"I have a few notices" he said. "As always, there is to be no use of magic in the corridors between classes."

Hermione's eyes shot to Elizabeth. More than once had she broken this rule. She never was good with the magic ban, even at home. Elizabeth shrunk down in her seat.

"Madam Hooch has asked me to remind all pupils interested in playing on their house's Quidditch team to please contact her. Trials will begin shortly."

It was all the typical rules he was listing. The Forbidden Forest was, of course, forbidden, Filch will confiscate all the items that bring you enjoyment if given the chance, first years are not permitted to have brooms on school grounds. Elizabeth knew all of this, but it was his last announcement that made her ears prick up.

"All students should be reminded to do their best to avoid the grounds' Whomping Willow, as it is a rather pugnacious tree. Also, if anyone happens to see a Ford Anglia around, please report the sighting to either myself, or the head of your house."

Elizabeth and Ginny looked at each other. Elizabeth was sure her eyes were as large with shock as Ginny's bright brown ones.

There was only one person Elizabeth knew with a Ford Anglia and that was Mr. Weasley. He wasn't technically supposed to have it, since he did use magic to make it more spacious inside and able to fly. This was against the Ministry's rules and he knew it. He did work in the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office, so he knew very well that what he did classified as misusing Muggle artifacts. William had found out about the Ford Anglia three summers ago. Mr. Weasley begged him not to say anything at the Ministry and especially not to Margaret. She would have told the Mistress of Magic, Millicent Bagnold, immediately and she would now tell Fudge if she found out. William promised he wouldn't say a word, as Mr. Weasley was very fond of his car, but now that Ron had taken it, surely the Ministry would have to be informed.

Why Harry and Ron took the car and how they even managed to fly it were all she could think of. Ron had done plenty of stupid things in his life, but never something this stupid. Elizabeth was fuming at him.

Hermione turned to speak. Elizabeth put her hand up, silencing her. "I'm with you completely, Hermione," Elizabeth said, almost having read her mind.

The feast ended and prefect Percy snapped into his element, telling all Gryffindors to follow him back to Gryffindor Tower. Ginny stayed with Elizabeth and Hermione, both of whom were more sour than a lemon, as Margaret would say. They climbed narrow flights of stone stairs in silence. Other students around them engaged in conversation and Percy, at the lead, was talking all about the castle, but their lips were puckered shut.

They had finally reached the portrait of the Fat Lady. "Password?" she asked.

"Wattlebird," Percy said.

"Oh no," Neville muttered. "Not a new password."

Elizabeth sighed as her sour expression faded and she patted him on the back. He did have the most difficult of times remembering things. The portrait swung open and students filed in one after the other. Ginny went ahead with Neville, but Elizabeth pulled Hermione out of sight.

"What're you doing?" Hermione asked.

"If Mr. Weasley's Ford Anglia is on the grounds, then Harry and Ron have to be too," Elizabeth whispered. "And if they're here, they have to come back to the dorm, right?" Hermione nodded in agreement. "And we'll be the first to greet them."

Ron had gotten off lightly for taking the car that summer, but he would not be getting away with it again. Hermione and Elizabeth had a few choice words for the boys and they were going to make sure they heard each and every one of them.

* * *

**A/N:** Plot and quotes from Harry Potter and The Chamber of Secrets by J.K. Rowling, chapter five, The Whomping Willow, pages 76 to 77, page 80, and pages 83 to 84.


	6. Chapter Six

They waited, pacing in various directions whenever they heard someone coming, attempting not to look suspicious. They had been caught by Sir Nicholas, the Gryffindor house ghost, asking where they were off to so late without a professor or prefect. He was one of the nicer ghosts that resided in the school, Elizabeth thought. He was always willing to help a Gryffindor, or really anyone who needed it as long as they didn't insult him by calling him Nearly Headless Nick. He preferred his proper title.

Elizabeth also liked the Fat Friar, the Hufflepuff ghost, as he was a rather jolly fellow, who would wish students good day when he passed them. However, there were plenty of ghosts at Hogwarts that Elizabeth did not find herself very happy with. Professor Binns, the History of Magic teacher, was extraordinarily boring in her mind. He liked only cold, hard, dry facts and he seemed to be uncaring that he was dead, having passed away in the staff room one night and simply went about his routine the next morning as if nothing happened. William remembered him from his schooldays and said that Dumbledore seemed quite amused with the fact he would never have to find a new History of Magic teacher.

While the only real complaint against Professor Binns was his lifeless personality, literally, other ghosts were far more animated. Moaning Myrtle, a ghost that lived in the second floor girl's toilet, was a shrill, moping ghost that would whine and cry whenever someone entered the bathroom. She also insisted that everyone was simply picking on her, whether they knew her or not. She was an insufferable creature. Margaret hated Myrtle and told Elizabeth all about her when Elizabeth mentioned running into her one night last year. She said they went to school together and she was a rather intolerable girl, as she was rather down on herself. Margaret never did like people who felt sorry for themselves. Plenty of students had done their fair share of harassing poor Myrtle, though. She had died during Margaret's second year at Hogwarts in the girl's toilet, but Margaret never did say how. She said after that, Myrtle followed Olive Hornby, another Hogwarts student that teased her, around until the Ministry stepped in to stop her. She's haunted the toilet she died in ever since. She was a big pain to anyone who needed to use that toilet.

And then other ghosts were far more terrifying in the way Muggles would assume based on the stories and legends they are told. Elizabeth, and several other students, did their best to avoid the Slytherin house ghost known as the Bloody Baron; a suitable name as he was covered in blood. Elizabeth had never known him to speak, making him all the more frightening. Richard had asked William about the Baron when he first attended Hogwarts. William and Thomas had exchanged glances across the kitchen table before William had said a long time ago the Baron had committed a crime of passion he forever regretted. Neither her uncle nor her grandfather would comment further on what had happened to the Baron, but this, combined with the fact that Peeves respected the Baron and no one else, was enough to make him a horrifying ghost.

Now Richard's house had a ghost as well: The Grey Lady. He didn't know much about her other than the rumours she was connected to the Bloody Baron, but he didn't know how. He said she was probably the least bothersome of all the ghosts, as he rarely ever saw her around and she never did speak much. Elizabeth had seen her near the library. She had a certain stoicism to her that Elizabeth found rather saddening.

Elizabeth had told Sir Nicholas they were simply walking off all the food they had eaten at the feast. He bid them goodnight as they headed back towards the Gryffindor common room.

"I can't believe you lied to Sir Nicholas," Hermione said.

"I didn't _lie_ to Sir Nicholas," said Elizabeth. "I simply chose not to tell him everything."

"That's lying!"

"Is not! Uncle William does it to Gran all the time. It's not lying he said, it's her fault she doesn't ask more."

"That's _lying_, Elizabeth," Hermione hissed as they got closer to the common room. "You're deceiving people doing that."

Elizabeth hushed her as two figures approached the Fat Lady's portrait.

"Password?" she asked.

"Er —" said Harry.

Elizabeth and Hermione hurried towards them.

"_There you are!_" Hermione said. "Where have you _been_? The most _ridiculous_ rumours — someone said you'd been expelled for crashing a flying _car_ —"

"Well, we haven't been expelled," Harry assured them.

"You're not telling me you _did_ fly here? said Hermione, sounding almost as severe as Professor McGonagall.

"Skip the lecture," said Ron impatiently, "and tell us the new password."

"We will not tell you the new password, Ronald Weasley," Elizabeth spoke up. "You deserve to sleep out here on the ground after all you've done."

"You be quiet," Ron said, pointing a finger in her face. "No one asked for you to be starting trouble again."

"_Me_? You've stolen that car twice now!" Elizabeth put her hands on her hips. "What's your mother going to think? You're going to be in more trouble than Fred and George ever have when she gets word of this."

"You just hush!" Ron said, turning red with anger. "The next word out of your mouth better be the password, Liz, or I'll —"

"You'll _what_?" Elizabeth wasn't afraid of any empty threats Ron was going to come up with. "I'll tell Harry the new password and let _him_ in, as he doesn't deserve to be punished for _your_ stupidity."

"It's my fault too," Harry said. "We both took the car. McGonagall was right, I should have just sent an owl. Don't get mad at Ron."

Harry was used to being put in the middle of Ron and Elizabeth's arguments. He usually was their arguments actually, ever since they came to school. Elizabeth would fight with Ron about getting Harry caught up in his foolish schemes and Ron would argue with Elizabeth that if she, and often Hermione, didn't like what Harry and he were up to, then they could just both get lost. Harry never could get either of them to calm down once they had started.

"_See_?" Ron said. "Not _everything_ is my fault."

"No, Ron Weasley," Elizabeth said, taking Hermione by the arm, "_you_ are your parents' fault. Wattlebird."

"You are —"

But what she was, she didn't know. Ron's words had been cut short by the portrait swinging open and there was a sudden storm of clapping. It looked as though the whole of Gyffindor House was still awake, packed into the circular common room, standing on the lopsided tables and squashy armchairs, waiting for them to arrive. Arms reached through the portrait hole to pull Harry and Ron inside, leaving Elizabeth to drag Hermione in after them.

"Brilliant!" yelled Lee Jordan. "Inspired! What an entrance! Flying a car right into the Whomping Willow, people'll be talking about that one for years —"

"Good for you," said a fifth year Elizabeth had not met. Another unfamiliar student was patting Harry on the back as though he'd just won a marathon. Elizabeth and Hermione scowled as Fred and George pushed their way to the front of the crowd and said together, "Why couldn't we've come in the car, eh?"

Ron went scarlet in the face, grinningly embarrassedly. Elizabeth saw Harry nudge him in the ribs and nod in the direction of some excited first years. Over the top of the crowd, Elizabeth saw Percy trying to get nearer to Ron and Harry, not looking too happy at all.

"Got to get upstairs — bit tired," Ron said, and the two of them started pushing their way toward the door on the other side of the room, which led to a spiral staircase and the dormitories.

"Night," Harry called back to Hermione and Elizabeth.

Elizabeth was standing with arms crossed when Fred nudged her with his elbow.

"Lighten up," he said.

He never was able to get on Elizabeth's good side, but he did have a point. She needed to be less of a strict authoritarian unless she wished to become like Margaret, or worse. She looked over to see Hermione with a scowl on her face. If she wasn't careful, she was going to be as much of a fun sucker as Hermione Granger.

Despite having spent the night thinking of how terrifying it would be to live life as stern and stodgy as Hermione, Elizabeth was happy to see those smug little grins had disappeared from Ron and Harry's faces completely the next morning. It made her feel just a bit better knowing Ron's day had been ruined because he got a Howler from his mother.

Margaret had sent one to Richard during his third year for starting a fight with Marcus Flint when he tripped him in the corridors and Richard had a bloody nose from it. He said it scared him good and that if she wasn't more careful, Margaret would be sending them to her soon enough. Thomas said William received quite a few Howlers from Margaret when he went to school. Unlike Richard, it never deterred him from causing trouble. It probably encouraged the little oddball.

Mrs. Weasley's voiced boomed through the hall as she berated Ron for taking the car, worrying her, and launching an inquiry of Mr. Weasley at work. Ron turned crimson red, sinking so far in his seat, all that could be seen was his vibrant hair peeking over the top of the table.

Elizabeth couldn't help but think that Mrs. Weasley's Howler was exactly what a Howler from Margaret had to be like for William. She started off with anger for his actions and then played the guilt card that he had shamed them all; he wasn't raised to act so irresponsibly and she would have his head when she got hold of him. She had heard Margaret tell him plenty of times at home that his actions would simply crush Thomas when she told him. William must have heard this countless times out of her and Thomas had yet to ever really be disappointed in William.

When it was all over, a few students laughed, but they went about their business. Ron stopped Hermione from telling him he deserved it, even though he did. He had caused more trouble in one day that he had before in his entire life. Elizabeth had tried to assure him it wasn't that bad and no one would give it a second thought, but he didn't believe her.

The staff seemed unaffected, moving about the tables handing out course timetables. The Gryffindors had Herbology with the Hufflepuffs that morning, and after breakfast they met with Professor Sprout at the greenhouses. Professor Lockhart was with her today, dressed in robes of turquoise, with his golden hair shining out from under a perfectly positioned turquoise hat with gold trim. Squat little Professor Sprout looked quite plain next to him in her patched hat and flyaway hair. She always had a large amount of earth on her clothes and under her fingernails.

"Oh, hello there!" Lockhart called, beaming around at the assembled students. "Just been showing Professor Sprout the right way to doctor a Whomping Willow!"

Elizabeth rolled her eyes. She knew Professor Sprout could tend to the tree on her own. She was a very capable Herbology professor. She was always a very pleasant woman, often cheerful. She was perhaps Elizabeth's favourite professor at Hogwarts. She knew she certainly wasn't fond of Professor Snape, and despite being head of Gryffindor house, Professor McGonagall reminded her far too much of her own grandmother to like. She had no qualms with Professor Kettleburn, other than the distracting missing limbs, or with Professor Sinistra, the Astronomy teacher, but she wasn't exactly keen on either of them. She right disliked Professor Binns, but she wasn't even sure Hermione liked him. She did also like Professor Flitwick, as he was a rather jovial person, but he was a bit odd for her tastes. Not odd in the way of her grandfather, or Uncle William, or even Dumbledore. He was a different kind of quirky.

"But I don't want you running away with the idea that I'm better at Herbology than she is!" said Lockhart. "I just happen to have met several of these exotic plants on my travels..."

"Greenhouse three today, chaps!" said Professor Sprout, who was looking distinctly disgruntled, not at all her usual cheerful self.

There was a murmur of interest and Elizabeth was excited. They had only ever worked in greenhouse one before — greenhouse three housed far more interesting and dangerous plants. They were the kind of plants that Margaret kept the bits of locked away in her potions ingredients cupboard.

Professor Sprout took a large key from her belt and unlocked the door. The smell of damp earth and fertilizer mingled with the heavy perfume of some giant, umbrella-sized flowers dangling from the ceiling. She had already shuffled inside when Professor Lockhart took Harry aside for a word, thinking Professor Sprout wouldn't mind at all, but judging by Professor's Sprout's scowl, she did mind, but Lockhart said, "That's the ticket," and closed the greenhouse door in her face. Professor Sprout looked very cross about it, but straightened her hat and cleared her throat.

"Right," she said, taking a position behind the trestle bench in the center of the greenhouse.

About twenty different-coloured ear muffs were lying on the bench. Elizabeth had taken a seat in between Neville and Hannah Abbott, a pink faced Hufflepuff girl. She was on friendly terms with Hannah from classes last year, although they didn't really speak outside of class. It was better sitting with her than it was with Lavender Brown though.

She never got along with Lavender, even though they shared a room. She was a very giggly girl, which annoyed Elizabeth, whom was raised by Margaret to maintain her composure as much as possible. Elizabeth had a hard time controlling anger, as did Margaret, but she knew from plenty of lectures that Lavender's silly nature was not the way a proper woman would act, according to Margaret. Genevieve was quite the giggling fool Margaret claimed, but Thomas said she just had an appetite for life and a laugh that could be heard for miles. Margaret believed that women should be seen as respectable and refined, not noisy and untamed, which she thought of Genevieve and her mother, Mamie.

Margaret was always teaching the children the correct ways they should act and present themselves, which was fine by Thomas, but he didn't appreciate the way she would essentially alienate them from their parents. Elizabeth never once bothered to ask about Nicholas and she took no interest in inheriting Genevieve's wedding ring and pearl necklace when she graduated Hogwarts like Thomas and William had planned. Elizabeth simply said she didn't want them. William tried to talk her into them, but she had never met Genevieve, she didn't want a stranger's jewellery. Richard volunteered to take the jewellery instead, but William said Elizabeth would come around with age. She just didn't see this happening though.

Richard not only met Nicholas and Genevieve, he claimed he could remember them. He was three when they had died, and Elizabeth said that was too young to remember, but he swore he could. He said he remembered their house in Ottery St. Catchpole with the blue curtains and the hideous pink door so William could find their house, even at night. He said he remembered that Nicholas called him Ricky, but Elizabeth thought he was lying. He was always Richard; he never had a nickname, never wanted to be called anything else. Richard never cared what she said, he remained firm.

Elizabeth much preferred not having ever met her parents and not being able to remember them, rather then remembering them vaguely like Richard said, or having _them_ not remember her, like Neville's parents with him. He periodically visited his parents, who were permanent patients at St Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries. They resided on the fourth floor in the Janus Thickey ward. Elizabeth knew that is where they tended after those cursed with unliftable jinxes, hexes, incorrectly applied charms, and sometimes correctly applied charms, among other irreversible injuries. Oscar and Catherine's son, Robert, was placed there shortly after a poorly performed Imperius curse left him thinking he was the then Mistress of Magic, Millicent Bagnold. William clearly found this amusing, until Robert died of injuries he had sustained in a vampire attack. Oscar and Catherine preferred not to mention it. Neville was the same way and she would have never found out if it wasn't for William and his big mouth. He had a terrible habit of blurting out things better left unsaid.

Either way, Elizabeth never thought of herself as parentless. Thomas and Margaret raised her. They were her parents in her mind. She didn't need to hang onto created memories of people she never knew. Nicholas wasn't her father and Genevieve wasn't her mother. She had her grandparents and Uncle William. They were her parents. They watched after her, they took care of her, and they were there when she was growing up, not these faceless names that were always mentioned to her. Just because they always spoke of Nicholas and Elizabeth knew that he was always cold no matter the weather, or that the quilt on the end of Margaret's bed was made by her special for him to drag around the house didn't mean anything. Just because she knew little things about him didn't mean she knew him.

The whole class stared as Harry opened the door and slid inside. Professor Sprout waited for him to take his seat between Ron and Hermione before saying, "We'll be repotting Mandrakes today. Now, who can tell me the properties of the Mandrake?"

To nobody's surprise, Hermione's hand was first into the air.

"Mandrake, or Mandragora, is a powerful restorative," said Hermione, sounding as usual as though she had swallowed the textbook. "It is used to return people who have been transfigured or cursed to their original state."

"Excellent. Ten points to Gryffindor," said Professor Sprout. "The Mandrake forms an essential part of most antidotes. It is also, however dangerous. Who can tell me why?"

Hermione's hand narrowly missed Harry's glasses as it shot up again. No wonder no one else ever tried to answer a question. Hermione disregarded everyone around her when she knew the answer, spitting it out before a teacher even had a chance to choose a student.

"The cry of the Mandrake is fatal to anyone who hears it," she said promptly.

"Precisely. Take another ten points," said Professor Sprout. "Now, the Mandrakes we have here are still very young."

She pointed to a row of deep trays as she spoke, and everyone shuffled forward for a better look. A hundred or so tufty little plants, purplish green in colour, were growing there in rows. They looked quite unremarkable, but they certainly were dangerous to anyone who knew about the Mandrake.

"Everyone take a pair of earmuffs," said Professor Sprout.

There was a scramble as everyone tried to seise a pair that wasn't pink and fluffy. Elizabeth, of course, got stuck with one of the pink pairs. She wasn't particularly fond of pink, nor did she have anything against it. She just didn't like being the last to choose at everything because she got trampled on, being so small. Everyone just usually pushed her out of the way. She was weak and tiny, therefore fighting back wasn't very easy for her, but she wasn't the type to give up. She would shove back, with no success usually, but it never stopped her from trying. She didn't want to spend her whole school life crying to Richard when she couldn't move her trunk, or reach the top shelf of the kitchen cabinets. She wanted to be able to one day carry a book half her size up the shop ladder like he did, without any struggle. She wanted to one day be first to choose in class, instead of getting shoved to the back of the queue by those much bigger and stronger than her. One day, she wanted to be just as good as everyone else.

"When I tell you to put them on, make sure your ears are completely covered," said Professor Sprout. "When it is safe to remove them, I will give you the thumbs-up. Right — earmuffs on."

Elizabeth was sure that the sound of earmuffs snapping on could be heard throughout the greenhouse, but not by any of them, as the earmuffs shut out sound completely. Elizabeth was happy to see that Professor Sprout was also wearing a pair of pink, fluffy earmuffs over her ears. She rolled up the sleeves of her robes, grasped one of the tufty plants firmly, and pulled hard.

Instead of roots, a small, muddy, and extremely ugly baby popped out of the earth. The leaves were growing right out of his head. He had pale green, mottled skin, and was clearly bawling at the top of his lungs. Professor Sprout took a large plant pot from under the table and plunged the Mandrake into it, burying him in the dark, damp compost until only the tufted leaves were visible. She dusted off her hands, gave them all the thumbs-up, and removed her own earmuffs.

"As our Mandrakes are only seedlings, their cries won't kill yet," she said calmly as though she'd just done nothing more exciting than water a begonia. "However, they will knock you out for several hours, and as I'm sure none of you want to miss your first day back, make sure your earmuffs are securely in place while you work. I will attract your attention when it is time to pack up.

"Four to a tray — there is a large supply of pots here — compost in the sacks over there — and be careful of the Venomous Tentactula, it's teething."

She gave a sharp slap to a spiky, dark red plant as she spoke, making it draw in the long feelers that had been inching sneakily over her shoulder.

Hermione waved Elizabeth over to work with Harry, Ron, and her, but she declined, sticking with Neville. They were joined by Hannah Abbott and her friend Ernie Macmillan, also in Hufflepuff. Another Hufflepuff boy she didn't recognise joined Harry, Ron, and Hermione. She heard him introduce himself as Justin Finch-Fletchley and shamelessly flatter Hermione before talking lengthily about Lockhart.

Professor Sprout had ordered their earmuffs back on and to begin repotting their Mandrakes. She made it look extremely easy, but it wasn't. The Mandrakes didn't like coming out of the earth, but other students were managing to pull them, even Hermione Granger got hers out. Elizabeth tugged with both hands, but it wasn't budging. She tried pulling it from the top, the sides, and even putting the pot on the floor held firmly between her feet and pulling, but the Mandrake would not come out. Professor Sprout had shuffled over as Elizabeth's hands slipped off the Mandrake and she went flying backwards, crashing to the floor. Professor Sprout picked her up and dusted her off before removing the Mandrake for Elizabeth and handing it to her to repot. This pleased Elizabeth none, as she was the only one in the class who was unable to do it herself.

By the end of class, like everyone else, she was sweaty, aching, and covered in earth.

"Don't worry, Liz," Harry said. "Professor Sprout made it look easy. I had trouble with my Mandrake too."

"You didn't hurt yourself though," she said, showing him a darkened patch of her robes on her elbow, which was blood. She had cut herself when she landed on the ground. "And I still didn't even get it out." She sighed in frustration. She had to accept it, she wasn't good at things like Herbology.

Everyone traipsed back to the castle for a quick wash, but this didn't make Elizabeth feel any better. The Gryffindors had to hurry off to Transfiguration, and Elizabeth did hate Transfiguration, even if she was good at it.

Professor McGonagall's lessons were always hard work, but a lot of people seemed to be struggling more than usual, acting as if everything they had learned last year had simply been wiped from their memory. They were supposed to turn a beetle into a button, but some students were finding this increasingly difficult. While Elizabeth and Hermione had managed several buttons by the end of class, all Harry had seemed to do was cause his beetle to run back and forth across the desk, avoiding his wand.

Ron was far worse off. His wand was patched with Spellotape since it had broken when he and Harry crashed into the Whomping Willow. It kept crackling and sparking at odd moments, and every time Ron tried to transfigure his beetle it engulfed him in thick grey smoke that smelled of rotten eggs. Unable to see what he was doing, Ron accidently squashed his beetle with his elbow and had to ask for a new one. Professor McGonagall wasn't pleased. She was less pleased with Neville's lack of progress, but that was expected by now.

They were all relieved to hear the lunch bell. Everyone filed out of the classroom except Harry and Ron, but they caught up with Elizabeth and Hermione at lunch. Hermione just made Ron feel worse by showing him the handful of perfect coat buttons she had produced in Transfiguration. She did know how to make someone awfully sore without even trying.

"What've we got this afternoon?" asked Harry, hastily changing the subject.

"Defence Against the Dark Arts," said Hermione at once.

"_Why_," demanded Ron, seising her timetable," have you outlined all Lockhart's lessons in little hearts?"

Hermione snatched the timetable back, blushing furiously.

"You aren't in love with Lockhart too, are you?" Ron said, taking Elizabeth's timetable, which was plain, except for a skull and crossbones on every Potions lesson with Professor Snape.

"Hey!" she said, grabbing it back. "Whatever feelings I have is none of your business, Ron."

They finished lunch in silence and went outside into the overcast courtyard. Hermione sat down on a stone step and buried her nose in _Voyages with Vampires_ again. Harry and Ron stood talking about Quidditch. Elizabeth lingered around Hermione.

"I hated that one almost as much as _Wanderings with Werewolves_," she said.

Hermione didn't even look up. "You just don't know a good read when you find one."

"I live in a bookshop, Hermione. I know more about books than you." Elizabeth kicked a pebble in front of her. "Besides, you only like the books because you fancy Lockhart."

Hermione removed her face from the book to stare at Elizabeth. "Gilderoy Lockhart is a very well travelled and knowledgeable wizard, who has faced countless perils and emerged triumphant from every one. You could learn a lot from him and that's why I respect him and his books."

Elizabeth smirked. "Yeah right. That's why you drew hearts all over his lessons on your timetable too? Out of respect for him and his informative books?"

She buried herself in the book again. "You're just as bad as Ron. You just wait until we have Defence Against the Dark Arts with him and you'll see all that you'll learn."

"I already know about the Dark Arts. That's what Uncle William is for."

"Well, if he was better than Lockhart, _he_ would be teaching this class, now wouldn't he?"

Elizabeth was about to argue when she heard a voice.

"All right, Harry?"

Elizabeth turned around to see the mousy looking boy that was sorted in her house. He was clutching what looked like an ordinary Muggle camera as he turned bright red.

"I'm — I'm Colin Creevey," he said breathlessly, taking a tentative step forward. "I'm in Gryffindor, too. D'you think — would it be all right if — can I have a picture?" he said, raising the camera hopefully.

"A picture?" Harry repeated blankly.

Colin had gone on to tell Harry all that he had learned about him since coming to school and how he was a Muggle-born, his dad being a milkman. He was taking pictures to send home to his father and he wanted a picture of Harry, since he had learned about Harry's defeat of You-Know-Who as a baby. He even asked Harry to sign it.

Elizabeth laughed. She thought first year Muggle-borns to be rather endearing. They were fascinated with the world around them and every new bit of magic they learned about. Elizabeth figured she'd be the same way if she was ever in the Muggle world long enough to learn about their ways of doing things, so she wasn't annoyed when people like Colin Creevey mentioned it to people who were well aware that pictures moved in the wizarding world. Her smile quickly turned into a scowl.

"_Signed photos_? You're giving out _signed photos_, Potter?"

Loud and scathing, Draco Malfoy's voice echoed around the courtyard. He had stopped right behind Colin, flanked as he always was at Hogwarts, by his large and thuggish cronies, Crabbe and Goyle.

"Everyone line up!" Malfoy roared to the crowd. "Harry Potter's giving out signed photos!"

"No, I'm not," said Harry angrily, his fists clenching. "Shut up, Malfoy."

Elizabeth stepped up. She had quite enough of Draco for the entire year, and it was only the first day of classes. Ever since he stepped foot in Flourish & Blotts this past summer, he had done nothing but pick on Harry and Ron. He even insulted Ginny. She thought it served his father right what happened between him and Mr. Weasley.

"How's your father's black-eye?" she asked casually.

"Should've known you'd be around to protect Potter, Elizabeth," he snarled. "You're just like Weasley here, following him around in hopes some of his fame rubs off on you."

"Better than following you around. Only Merlin knows what kind of bad stench would rub off on me if I did."

A pink tinge appeared in his cheeks. "You watch yourself, Wellington."

"Or what? You wouldn't dare set your goons on me. Even _you're_ not that stupid."

"You hang around with Potter and Weasley and that mud —"

Elizabeth pointed her wand straight into his neck. Crabbed and Goyle sprang forward, but he called them off, pushing her wand away himself.

"Your _boyfriend_, Potter, can't even _curse_ someone and first years are asking for his _autograph_? Bit rich."

"You're just jealous," piped up Colin, whose entire body was about as thick as Crabbe's neck.

"_Jealous?_" said Malfoy, who didn't need to shout anymore: half the courtyard was listening in. "Of what? I don't want a foul scar right across my head, thanks. I don't think getting your head cut open makes you that special, myself."

Crabbe and Goyle were sniggering stupidly.

"Eat slugs, Malfoy," said Ron angrily. Crabbe stopped laughing and started rubbing his knuckles in a menacing way.

"Be careful, Weasley," sneered Malfoy. "You don't want to start any trouble or your Mummy'll have to come and take you away from school." He put on a shrill, piercing voice. "_If you put another toe out of line_ —"

A knot of Slytherin fifth-years nearby laughed loudly at this. Elizabeth gritted her teeth. She had enough. She was going to hit him this time. She'd hit him so hard the next time he even thought about teasing Ron or Harry, he'd remember the time he was kept up in the hospital wing in a coma for three months.

"Weasley would like a signed photo, Potter," smirked Malfoy. "It'd be worth more than his family's whole house —"

Ron whipped out his Spellotaped wand, but Hermione shut _Voyages with Vampires_ with a snap and whispered, "Look out!"

"What's all this, what's all this?" Gilderoy Lockhart was striding toward them, his turquoise robes swirling behind him. "Who's giving out signed photos?"

Ron lowered his wand and took a step back to stand with Elizabeth, who was looking at the ground like she was as innocent as a lamb. Harry started to speak, but he was cut short as Lockhart flung an arm around his shoulders and thundered jovially, "Shouldn't have asked! We meet again, Harry!"

Malfoy slid smirking back into the crowd. Elizabeth jumped forward.

"Draco Malfoy, I'm gonna knock all your teeth out if you come 'round Harry again!" she cried angrily.

Gilderoy Lockhart laughed heartily. "Such strong words from such a small girl! I see you must've taken a lesson from my books on standing up to your foes!"

"No, I —"

Elizabeth was cut off.

"Come on then, Mr. Creevey," said Lockhart, beaming at Colin. "A double portrait, can't do better than that, and we'll _both_ sign it for you."

Colin fumbled for his camera and took the picture as the bell rang behind them, signaling the start of afternoon classes.

"Off you go, move along there," Lockhart called to the crowd, and he set off back to the castle with Harry still clasped to his side.

Ron, Elizabeth, and Hermione followed behind to Lockhart's classroom.

"What was Malfoy going to call me?" Hermione asked Elizabeth.

"Stop asking that!" Elizabeth said.

"What _was_ he going to call me?" Hermione looked at Ron.

"Ron, you don't tell her," Elizabeth said to him.

"It can't be that bad," Hermione said. "It's just Malfoy trying to insult me again."

"It's more than that, Hermione," Elizabeth said.

"It still can't be that horrid."

"It is," Ron chimed in. "I would've hexed him good if Lockhart hadn't come around. Just wait till next time."

The three of them entered the classroom. Harry was already sitting in the very back, all seven of Lockhart's books in front of him. Ron and Hermione sat on either side of him. Elizabeth sat in front of him. She removed a few books to be able to see his face.

"You could've fried an egg on your face," said Ron. "You'd better hope Creevey doesn't meet Ginny, or they'll be starting a Harry Potter fan club."

"Shut up," snapped Harry.

"It's not that bad, Harry," said Elizabeth. "We all saw Colin approach you for a picture. Draco's just being a git again. You just need to ignore him. And you —" her attention turned to Ron and his Spellotaped wand "— you need to stop pointing that at people before you go blasting off someone's head or something."

He pointed it at her. She ripped it out of his hand and slammed it on the desk.

Neville had taken a seat next to Elizabeth as the rest of the class filed in and took their seats. Lockhart cleared his throat loudly and silence fell. He reached forward, picked up a copy of _Travels with Trolls_, and held it up to show his own, winking portrait on the front.

"Me," he said, pointing at it and winking as well. "Gilderoy Lockhart, Order of Merlin, Third Class, Honorary Member of the Dark Force Defence League, and five-time winner of _Witch Weekly's_ Most-Charming-Smile Award — but I don't talk about that. I didn't get rid of the Bandon Banshee by _smiling_ at her!"

He waited for them to laugh; a few people smiled weakly.

"I see you've all bought a complete set of my books — well done. I thought we'd start today with a little quiz. Nothing to worry about — just check how well you've read them, how much you've taken in —"

When he handed out the test papers he returned to the front of the class and said, "You have thirty minutes — start — _now_!"

"Oh no," Neville muttered. "I forgot my quill again." Elizabeth held out hers for him and he took it. "Thanks, Liz."

She pulled another self-inking quill from her bag. She always carried an extra, mostly because Neville often forgot his. "Not a problem, Neville."

"Ah ah, no talking!" said Lockhart. "There will be plenty of time to discuss my amazing encounters after the quiz!"

Elizabeth looked down at her paper. The questions were bunk. They weren't about Defence Against the Dark Arts, they were about Lockhart! Question one was asking what Lockhart's favourite colour was. Elizabeth had no idea, but guessed it was some shade of blue, as she had only seen him in robes of aquamarine, turquoise, and forget-me-not blue so far.

Elizabeth felt a little snarky, answering question three, which was _What, in your opinion, is Gilderoy Lockhart's greatest achievement to date?_ with _Getting all his books published_. This was her genuine answer, considering she thought his books to be rubbish and was baffled that he had not only written so many, but that they were best sellers.

On and on the quiz went, over three sides of paper, right down to:

_54. When is Gilderoy Lockhart's birthday, and what would his ideal gift be?_

Unlike most of the quiz, Elizabeth knew this one. His ideal gift was peace and harmony between all creatures, magical or not. She remembered this from _Wanderings with Werewolves_, the most painful of his books to read. She thought it was absolutely silly to spend an entire book talking about defeating werewolves, but saying he wished they could live together peacefully. It was like when Thomas claimed he thought Margaret looked stunning in a hideous purple dress she had with ruffles around the collar, but was later caught trying to burn the monstrosity in the parlour fireplace.

Half an hour later, Lockhart collected the papers and rifled through them in front of the class. He was disappointed that so many people had forgotten his favourite colour was lilac and he wanted harmony between all magic and non-magic peoples. He awarded Gryffindor ten points for Hermione's perfect marks on the quiz. Elizabeth need not turn around to know that Hermione was blushing like mad when he complimented her as the only one to remember his secret ambition to create a line of hair-care products.

His lesson only got worse from there, trying to pass off Cornish pixies as Dark creatures. They were stout, electric blue, and quite rude, but they weren't classified by the Ministry as Dark creatures like Red Caps or hinkypunks. They were just magical creatures with a bad attitude, which was very evident when he let them loose and they tore apart the classroom: tearing pictures from the wall, ripping up books, spraying students with ink bottles, smashing windows, which they then threw books and bags out of, and hung poor Neville from a candelabra, which gave way and he fell right onto Lockhart's desk. When the bell rang, instead of cleaning up the pixies himself, Lockhart called on Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Elizabeth to do so as they were some of the last to escape out the door.

"Elizabeth, Freezing Charm," Hermione commanded as she began immobilising pixies and stuffing them back into their cage.

"Right," said Elizabeth, taking her order and freezing several pixies trying to escape out the smashed window.

"Can you _believe_ him?" roared Ron as one of the remaining pixies bit him painfully on the ear.

"He just wants to give us some hands-on experience," said Hermione.

"_Hands on?_" said Harry, who was trying to grab a pixie, dancing out of reach with its tongue out. "Hermione, he didn't have a clue what he was doing —"

"Rubbish," said Hermione. "You've read his books — look at all those amazing things he's done —"

"He _says_ he's done," Ron muttered.

"I'm with Ron on this one," Elizabeth said, shoving the last of pixies back in the cage. "Pixies aren't Dark creatures. Anyone with the sort of skill he claims would know that. They're just annoying." Elizabeth violently shook the cage, their shrill voices screeching.

"Stop that!" Hermione scolded Elizabeth. "You three are all wrong. Lockhart is a brilliant wizard."

Elizabeth sighed. "Have you learned nothing from last year?" she asked. "Besides, you only like him because he's" — Elizabeth mocked Lockhart's voice — "_five time winner of Witch Weekly's Most-Charming-Smile Award_. But he don't talk about that, right?"

Hermione glared at her. Elizabeth didn't care if she was being rude. Her day had gone from bad to worse with no hopes of improving.

* * *

**A/N:** Quotes and plot from Harry Potter and The Chamber of Secrets by J.K. Rowling, chapter five, The Whomping Willow, pages 83 to 85, and chapter six, Gilderoy Lockhart, pages 86 to 103.


	7. Chapter Seven

The next few days, Elizabeth had been feeling better. Lockhart was still sweeping around the grounds in brightly coloured robes, beaming that white smile as if class never happened. She knew it was impossible, as not even Thomas forgot about things that fast. Harry had taken to avoiding Lockhart completely. He was also desperate to avoid Colin Creevey, whom Elizabeth found to be a rather pleasant person, but Harry cared not for this information. He just wanted to be left alone for a while, but Colin seemed to have memorised his timetable. Elizabeth could see how this was annoying, as Richard had memorised Penelope's typical routine, although he didn't pop up six or seven times a day just to say hello to her.

Ron's wand was still acting funny. That Friday morning in Charms, it flew right out of his hand, hitting poor Professor Flitwick squarely between the eyes, forming a large, throbbing green boil. Ron turned scarlet with embarrassment. That Spellotape was doing nothing for his wand. If anything, it made it worse.

Elizabeth was glad to have reached the weekend. Besides not having to attend class and being able to spend the day with her friends, she could also bother Richard, who spent his weekends roaming the castle, taking his prefect duties a bit too seriously. She usually followed him to taunt him, but today she had a legitimate reason to talk to Richard. A very special holiday was coming up that required their attention and since he seemed to be preoccupied this year, she felt it her responsibility to remind him every spare moment she had.

"What're we gonna get him?" she asked, following Richard as he swept around the castle.

"Stop asking me that," he said. "Hey! No magic in the corridors!" he yelled to a fourth year, wand pointed and ready to hex a particularly sour looking boy.

Richard never really cared that much about being a prefect. Sure, he loved to boast of it, but he wasn't as strict as Percy. He wasn't deducting house points and tattling to professors left and right. He gave people fair warning and let the little things slide, but lately this had changed. He was trying to be a shoo in for Head Boy next year, just to spite Percy. Last summer, when Margaret suggested it, he said he didn't want to be, but now he was dead set. He still didn't really want to be, but he just wanted to out do Percy. He had talked about the look on Percy's smug little face if he were to find out Richard was chosen over him and how he wished to see that. Elizabeth thought this was awfully vengeful of him and she knew that when Thomas found out, he'd put an immediate stop to it. Thomas never did stand for the idea of revenge.

"He's sixty-six this year, you know."

Thomas Wellington was turning sixty-six at the end of September. They always tried to send a birthday present on time, but it was always late. Thomas never seemed to mind, as it was the thought that counted he said. He seemed to like whatever they got him too, never having once complained and he always used everything, including a bizarre inkwell shaped like a tortoise from Margaret. She did like animals, as long as they weren't real and she didn't have to clean up after them.

Margaret's birthday was a mystery. She never allowed anyone to know when it was, although they knew it was mid-May sometime, as Catherine always sent a cake. Unlike Thomas, who spent the week of his birthday very giddy, Margaret remained stoic. She never mentioned her age either, although everyone knew she was going to be sixty-three this coming year and none too chuffed about it they imagined.

Another member of the household hated birthdays just as much as Margaret. William's birthday was the end of February and this was always marked by Margaret hiding the valuables somewhere he couldn't break them. William liked aging about as much as he liked Madam Malkin, which was none honestly. He was turning thirty-three this year, which was a miracle really. He was the biggest walking disaster ever, but he somehow managed to outlive his brother, his sister-in-law, two of his cousins, a few of his friends, and several of his co-workers. Elizabeth believed he was indestructible, but Richard just said he was lucky. This didn't change her mind though. She had come to the conclusion that William had to be a god like in the Muggle mythology books she read. He performed great feats of magic, he emerged from every battle victorious, he couldn't be killed, and he could control fire. She had suggested this theory to Thomas once, who simply laughed at her and said "Wouldn't that be something."

"I can count, Elizabeth Ann." He pointed at a group of third years all huddled around one boy with a toad in his hand. "I'll take house points if you five are enlarging that toad and leaving it in the girls' toilet again."

"We're not!" one yelled defiantly.

"Well, keep it that way."

"Richard, what are we getting Gramps?" Elizabeth asked again.

"I don't know yet, Elizabeth Ann."

"I wrote Uncle William and he hasn't responded yet so I thought to write Claudius and ask what they're getting him. I don't want it to be like that year all four of us got him new quills."

One birthday, about four years ago, when asked what he wanted, Thomas simply told Elizabeth not to worry, but he could sure use some more quills, as all of his had disappeared mysteriously. They hadn't disappeared as much as William had collected them. He never had his own quills, he was just swiping them from about the house and never giving them back.

On the morning of Thomas' birthday, it became apparent that he had also mentioned his missing quills to Richard, William, and Claudius. Elizabeth was so upset, since it was the first year that Margaret let her choose her own present for Thomas and she picked out the same gift as everybody else. She did like to be different with her presents.

"He asked for those."

"I know, but —"

"And he used them all so really, Elizabeth, go away."

"I _know_, but I don't want to get him quills again. That's so impersonal."

"You get quills every year."

"From Aunt Catherine. She still thinks I'm eight."

Aunt Catherine, while Margaret's sister and part of the only family they had left, wasn't particularly good with remembering details. It wasn't odd for her to send the same presents each year, as she didn't realise she had sent them the previous year, since she only visited on Christmas and never wrote the children, only Margaret. Names and ages weren't Catherine's strong point either. More than once throughout Christmas dinner did Uncle Oscar have to lean over and correct her when she called Richard Rodney, or when she told William to wait until he hit thirty to start complaining about age.

Catherine was, unfortunately, fantastic at remember downfalls and failures and she told several stories of babysitting William when he was a child every Christmas. Elizabeth thought that after twelve years, she would have repeated a story or two by now, but every year she had new ones. However, she was particularly fond of referencing the time she had given William an action figure of Ukrainian Ironbelly dragon, which he lost in the snow. When spring came around and the snow melted, he found it, but it no longer moved. She found this hilarious. William seemed sadden by the memory, even occasionally mumbling he spent all winter looking for that toy and Margaret threw it out when he finally found it.

"Derrick," Richard warned a fifth year Slytherin boy holding a first year by the arm. The boy released the first year, who quickly scurried away as fast as possible. He and Richard exchanged scowls.

Elizabeth hit Richard in the arm to get his attention. "Richard, I'm serious. I don't want to get Gramps quills again."

"Quit bothering me. Shouldn't you be with the Potter kid?"

"He's got Quidditch practice. Me, Ron, Hermione, and him were supposed to go see Hagrid —"

"Elizabeth Ann, don't go bothering Hagrid now."

"What do you mean bother? Hagrid likes us. We're his friends."

"Elizabeth Ann, you don't _befriend_ your elders. You respect them."

"But Claudius is our friend, Richard and he's older."

"Claudius is not our friend. He's Uncle William's —" Richard stopped dead in his tracks, staring at a group clad in green robes carrying brooms. "Oh no," he mumbled. "What is he doing now?" He took off at lightning speed after the Slytherin Quidditch team.

"Richard! Wait! What about Gramps? Richard!"

She ran after Richard, who was bolting out across the grounds toward the Quidditch field in hot pursuit of the Slytherin house team. Elizabeth always had trouble keeping up with Richard, who was faster than she was and far more agile. She hated going with him through Diagon Alley when Margaret sent them on errands because he was speed walker and Elizabeth quite liked a steady pace. If she didn't hold his hand, she would have lost him each and every time. She was wishing she had managed to grab onto him before he took off, but sometimes he was just too quick. He'd dart away before she could even process what was happening.

"Flint! Come back here, you rat!" he yelled.

Richard never did like Marcus Flint. They had been fighting with each other ever since Richard went off to school. She didn't quite know why, other than Marcus Flint was a Slytherin and Richard wasn't. He also liked to be a bit of a bully, picking on anyone who wasn't in his house. Of course, Richard wasn't the type of boy to take things lying down, so he often retaliated to Flint's constant taunting, much to Margaret's horror and extreme disapproval.

"I don't believe it!" Elizabeth could hear Oliver Wood hissing in outrage as she finally caught up on the Quidditch field, out of breath and having to rest hunched over, hands on her knees. He was still flying over the pitch on his broom. "I booked the field for today! We'll see about this!"

Wood shot toward the ground, landing rather harder than he meant to in his anger, staggering slightly as he dismounted. He was Richard's age, but he was far more burly and crazy about Quidditch. Richard never seemed to mind him, knowing that unless he wanted to talk about Quidditch, he wouldn't talk to Wood.

Harry, Fred, and George landed.

"Flint!" Wood bellowed at the Slytherin Captain. "This is our practice time! We got up specially! You can clear off now!"

"Wood, calm down." Richard tried to keep the peace.

Marcus Flint was even larger than Wood, who was larger than Richard. He had a look of trollish cunning on his face as he replied, "Plenty of room for all of us, Wood."

Angelina, Alicia, and Katie had come over, too. There were no girls on the Slytherin team, who stood shoulder to shoulder, facing the Gryffindors, leering to a man.

"But I booked the field!" said Wood, positively spitting with rage. "I booked it!"

"Wood, knock it off," Richard said. "Flint, what d'you think you're doing here if Gryffindor booked the field today?"

"Ah," said Flint. "But I've got a specially signed note here from Professor Snape. '_I, Professer S. Snape, give the Slytherin team permission to practise today on the Quidditch field owing to the need to train their new Seeker._'"

"Let me see that." Richard snatched the note out of Flint's hands.

"Richard," Elizabeth whinged as she clutched to his side like a child hiding behind their mother's legs.

"Shh," he hushed her as he read it over. He glanced up at Flint when he was done.

Flint snatched the letter back. "What now, Wellington?"

"You've got a new seeker?" said Wood. "Where?"

And from behind the six large figures before them came a seventh, smaller boy, smirking all over his pale, pointed face. It was Draco Malfoy.

"Aren't you Lucius Malfoy's son?" said Fred, looking at Malfoy with the same dislike on Elizabeth's face.

"Funny you should mention Draco's father," said Flint as the whole Slytherin team smiled still more broadly. "Let me show you the generous gift he's made to the Slytherin team."

All seven of them held out their broomsticks. Seven highly polished, brand-new handles and seven sets of fine gold lettering spelled the words _Nimbus Two Thousand and One_ gleamed under the Gryffindors' noses in the early morning sun.

"Very latest model. Only came out last month," said Flint carelessly, flicking a speck of dust from the end of his own. "I believe it outstrips the old Two Thousand series by a considerable amount. As for the old Cleansweeps" — he smiled nastily at Fred and George, who were both clutching Cleansweep Fives — "sweeps the board with them."

None of the Gryffindor team could think of anything to say for a moment. Malfoy was smirking so broadly his cold eyes were reduced to slits. Elizabeth stepped from Richard's side, but was quickly pulled back.

"But —"

"No," Richard snapped at her. "Let them think what they want. The best broom on the market doesn't make someone a better Quidditch player. Even Flint knows that."

Flint sniggered. "Whatever prepares the Gryffindors to lose this year, Wellington," he said.

"Shut it, Flint."

"I booked the field!" Wood cried at Richard, who somehow became the referee between Slytherin and Gryffindor. "They have no right to be here!"

"We have a note from a professor, Wood," spat Flint.

"Knock it off!" Richard yelled. "Flint, give me that." He snatched the note back. "Madam Hooch will fix this mess." He tore from the field, Elizabeth trying to follow. "You stay here, Elizabeth Ann!"

She fell back behind him, stopped dead on the grass and pouting to herself.

With Richard storming out of sight to find Madam Hooch, the Slytherins and Gryffindors were left in a standoff on the field, Oliver Wood looking ready to jump Marcus flint.

"Oh look," Flint said. "A field invasion."

Ron and Hermione were crossing the grass to see what was going on.

"What's happening?" Ron asked Harry. "Why aren't you playing? And what's _he_ doing here?"

He was looking at Malfoy, taking in his Slytherin Quidditch robes.

"I'm the new Slytherin Seeker, Weasley," said Malfoy, smugly. "Everyone's just been admiring the brooms my father's bought our team."

Ron gaped, opened-mouthed, at the seven superb broomsticks in front of him.

"Good, aren't they?" said Malfoy smoothly. "But perhaps the Gryffindor team will be able to raise some gold and get new brooms too. You could raffle off those Cleansweep Fives; I expect a museum would bid for them."

The Slytherin team howled with laughter. If there was one thing Elizabeth couldn't stand the most about Draco, it was the way he spoke to her friends and family.

"At least no one on the Gryffindor team had to _buy_ their way in," said Hermione sharply. "_They_ got in on pure talent."

The smug look on Malfoy's face flickered and a small smile formed on Elizabeth's lips, but it fell quickly with Malfoy's next words.

"No one asked your opinion, you filthy little Mudblood," he spat.

There was an instant uproar at his words. Flint had to dive in front of Malfoy to stop Fred and George jumping on him, Elizabeth's wand was the first one out, pointed firmly at Flint's face, Alicia shrieked, "_How dare you!_", and Ron plunged his hand into his robes, pulling out his wand, yelling, "You'll pay for that one, Malfoy!" and pointed it furiously under Flint's arm at Malfoy's face.

A loud bang echoed around the stadium and a jet of green light shot out the wrong end of Ron's wand, hitting him in the stomach and sending him reeling backward onto the grass.

"Ron!" Elizabeth screamed.

"Ron! Ron! Are you all right?" squealed Hermione.

Ron opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. Instead, he gave an almighty belch and several slugs dribbled out of his mouth onto his lap.

The Slytherin team were paralyzed with laughter. Flint was doubled up, hanging onto his new broomstick for support. Malfoy was on all fours, banging the ground with his fist. The Gryffindors were gathered around Ron, who kept belching large, glistening slugs. Nobody seemed to want to touch him.

Elizabeth turned her wand on Malfoy's broom. "_Flagrante delicto!_" she said, then turned her attention to Flint's broom and repeated the spell.

Flint dropped his broom instantly, falling over with nothing to support his balance. He yelped in pain and blew on his hands as if he had just touched a burning cooker. She was determined to curse every new Nimbus Two Thousand and One in sight.

"Liz!" Harry said, stopping her. "Come on. We'd better get him to Hagrid's, it's nearest," he said to Hermione and her.

Hermione nodded bravely, and Harry and her helped pulled Ron up by the arms.

"What happened, Harry? What happened? Is he ill? But you can cure him, can't you?" Colin had run down from his seat and was now dancing alongside them as they left the field. Ron gave a huge heave and more slugs dribbled down his front.

"Oooh," said Colin, fascinated and raising his camera. "Can you hold him still, Harry?"

"Get out of the way, Colin!" said Harry angrily. "Move it, Liz!" He and Hermione supported Ron out of the stadium and across the grounds toward the edge of the forest. Elizabeth ran out in front of them to lead the way.

"Nearly there, Ron," said Hermione as the gamekeeper's cabin came into view. "You'll be all right in a minute — almost there —"

Elizabeth darted toward Hagrid's house, almost at the door when it swung open, but it wasn't Hagrid who emerged. Gilderoy Lockhart, wearing robes of palest mauve today, came striding out.

Elizabeth dove behind the rain barrel next to the door to keep out of sight. Harry and Hermione dragged Ron behind a nearby bush.

"It's a simple matter if you know what you're doing!" Lockhart was saying loudly to Hagrid. "If you need help, you know where I am! I'll let you have a copy of my book. I'm surprised you haven't already got one — I'll sign one tonight and send it over. Well good-bye!" And he strode away toward the castle.

Elizabeth peeked over the barrel, waiting for Lockhart to be out of sight before emerging and knocking on Hagrid's door. She waved Harry and Hermione over, who pulled Ron out of the bush and up to Hagrid's door as he opened it.

Hagrid looked very grumpy, but his expression brightened when he saw who it was.

"Bin wonderin' when you'd come ter see me — come in, come in — thought you mighta bin Professor Lockhart back again —"

Harry and Hermione supported Ron over the threshold into the one-roomed cabin, which had an enormous bed in one corner, a fire crackling merrily in the other. Elizabeth peered across the grounds for any signs of people before shutting the door behind them.

Hagrid didn't seem perturbed by Ron's slug problem, which Harry hastily explained as he lowered Ron into a chair.

"Better out than in," he said cheerfully, plunking a large copper basin in front of him. "Get 'em all up, Ron."

"I don't think there's anything to do except wait for it to stop," said Hermione anxiously, watching Ron bend over the basin. "That's a difficult curse to work at the best of times, but with a broken wand —"

Hagrid was bustling around making them tea. His boarhound, Fang, was slobbering over Harry. Elizabeth thought it almost as disgusting as Ron vomiting up slugs.

"What did Lockhart want with you, Hagrid?" Harry asked, scratching Fang's ears.

"Givin' me advice on gettin' kelpies out a well," growled Hagrid, moving a half-plucked rooster off his scrubbed table and setting down the teapot. "Like I don't know. An' bangin' on about some banshee he banished. If one word of it was true, I'll eat my kettle."

Elizabeth smiled to herself. She was quite pleased with the growing amount of disbelief in Gilderoy Lockhart. More and more students and professors were beginning to become annoyed with Lockhart's ramblings of his accomplishments and his bogus lessons. She was glad to hear less people scolding her when she would brush off his writings as tosh. Of course, it was awfully peculiar for Hagrid to criticise Hogwarts' teachers though.

Hermione said, in a voice somewhat higher than usual, "I think you're being a bit unfair. Professor Dumbledore obviously thought he was the best man for the job —"

"He was the _on'y_ man for the job," said Hagrid, offering them a plate of treacle toffee, while Ron coughed squelchily into his basin. "An' I mean the _on'y_ one. Gettin' very difficult ter find anyone fer the Dark Arts job."

"What about Mister M—"

"Lizzie!" Hagrid interrupted her.

"But Uncle William said he retired and Dumbledore talked to him not too lo—"

"People aren't too keen ter take it on, see. They're startin' ter think it's jinxed. No one's lasted long fer a while now. So tell me," said Hagrid, jerking his head at Ron. "Who was he tryin' to curse?"

Elizabeth crossed her arms and let out a low huff of air. She very much hated when the adults in her life cut her off because they didn't want her to say something aloud. Margaret had done to this to her often, but one time, when they were out in Diagon Alley, Elizabeth became so frustrated she told Margaret that if she didn't want Elizabeth to say it then _she_ should have never said it in front of Elizabeth at all. Margaret quickly snatched her up and took her home, but she wasn't punished like she thought she'd be. She was simply told to go to her room for disrespecting her elders. It seemed to be a common reason for her to be in trouble.

"Malfoy called Hermione something," said Harry. "It must've been really bad, because everyone went wild."

Ron emerged over the tabletop looking pale and sweaty. Elizabeth and he exchanged glances before he said, "It _was_ bad. Malfoy called her 'Mudblood,' Hagrid —"

Ron dived out of sight again as a fresh wave of slugs made their appearance. Hagrid looked outraged.

"He didn'!" he growled at Hermione.

"He did," she said. "But I don't know what it means. I could tell it was really rude, of course —"

"It's about the most insulting thing he could think of," gasped Ron, coming back up. "Mudblood's a really foul name for someone who is Muggle-born — you know, non-magic parents."

"It's like when he calls Ron and me blood traitors and Muggle lovers," Elizabeth said. "It's the most vicious insult there is."

"There are some wizards — like Malfoy's family — who think they're better than everyone else because they're what people call pure-blood." He gave a small burp, and a single slug fell into his outstretched hand. He threw it into the basin.

"We're pure-bloods, Ron. Don't group us with the likes of elitists like the Malfoys."

Elizabeth never cared much for heritage, but she was fairly proud to be a pure-blood witch, as less and less were left in the world and her family had been around since before Hogwarts even existed. She did not, however, enjoy being associated with people like the Malfoys and thought that the prejudice between the types of wizards and witches went both ways. Plenty of Muggle-borns held hatred for pure-bloods, which was just as obvious as some pure-bloods' hatred for Muggle-borns. It infuriated her.

"I didn't," Ron said. "I mean, the rest of us know it doesn't make any difference at all. Look at Neville Longbottom — he's pure-blood and he can hardly stand a cauldron the right way up."

"Don't pick on Neville!" Elizabeth said angrily. "You're just as bad as Malfoy now."

"Stop being sore!"

Hagrid placed his large hand on Elizabeth's tiny shoulder, weighing her down as she tried to leap at Ron.

"They haven't invented a spell our Hermione can' do," said Hagrid proudly, making Hermione go a brilliant shade of magenta.

"Bond of blood. How 'bout that one?" Elizabeth muttered under her breath.

Hagrid gave Elizabeth's shoulder a painful little squeeze to quiet her down. A scowl appeared on her face which she wouldn't let disappear so easily.

"It's a disgusting thing to call someone," said Ron, wiping his sweaty brow with a shaking hand. "Dirty blood, see. Common blood. It's ridiculous. Most wizards these days are half-blooded anyway. If we hadn't married Muggles we'd've died out."

"No, pure-bloods marry other pure-bloods. The majority of us are interrelated somehow. You're related to the Malfoys, Ron."

It was true, even if Ron never spoke of it. His mother Molly was related to the Blacks by marriage and Malfoy's mother was a member of the Black family before she married Lucius.

Ron retched and ducked out of sight again.

"Lizzie," Hagrid warned her. "Well, I don' blame yeh fer tryin' ter curse him, Ron." He spoke loudly over the thuds of more slugs hitting the basin. "Bu' maybe it was a good thing yer wand backfired. 'Spect Lucius Malfoy would've come marchin' up ter school if yeh'd cursed his son. Least yer not in trouble."

Harry opened his mouth to say something, but the treacle toffee snapped his jaw back shut. Unfortunately, Hermione hadn't eaten any.

"Elizabeth retaliated against the Slytherins," Hermione said. "She cast the Flagrante Curse on their brooms."

"Yeh didn'!" Hagrid said. "Lizzie!"

"Malfoy started it," Elizabeth defended herself. "He's been starting with Harry ever since he met him. This year in the bookshop and then last week with Colin and the photo and now trying to steal the field when Gryffindor was practising. He's a berk! I should've done worse."

"Harry," said Hagrid abruptly as though struck by a sudden thought. "Gotta bone ter pick with yeh. I've heard you've bin givin' out signed photos. How come I haven't got one?"

Furious, Harry wrenched his teeth apart. "I have _not_ been giving out signed photos," he said hotly. "If Lockhart's still spreading that around —"

But then he saw that Hagrid was laughing.

"I'm on'y jokin'," he said, patting Harry genially on the back and sending him face first into the table. "I knew yeh hadn't really. I told Lockhart yeh didn' need teh. Yer more famous than him without tryin'."

"Bet he didn't like that," said Harry, sitting up and rubbing his chin.

"Don' think he did," said Hagrid, his eyes twinkling. "An' then I told him I'd never read one o' his books an' he decided ter go. Treacle toffe, Ron?" he added as Ron reappeared.

"No thanks," said Ron weakly. "Better not risk it."

"Come an' see what I've bin growin'," said Hagrid as they finished the last of their tea.

In the small vegetable patch behind Hagrid's house were a dozen of the largest pumpkins Elizabeth had ever seen Hagrid grow. Every Halloween, he brought her grandparents three pumpkins, two of which Margaret used for cooking and one they used for a decoration. They had never been larger than Odysseus' cage, but this year each was the size of large boulder.

"Gettin' on well, aren't they?" said Hagrid happily. "Fer the Halloween feast...should be big enough by then."

"What've you been feeding them?" said Harry.

Hagrid looked over his shoulder to check that they were alone. "Well, I've bin givin' them — you know — a bit o' help —"

Elizabeth sighed, the scowl having disappeared completely with no hopes of resurfacing. She never could be angry at her friends that long and she couldn't muster any anger toward Hagrid right now, even though she wanted to. She knew he kept his old wand from his schooldays hidden somewhere in his hut. He wasn't supposed to do magic, as he was expelled from Hogwarts during his third year and Elizabeth didn't know why. Hagrid never spoke of it and when she asked her grandparents, Margaret fell deathly silent and Thomas shifted the conversation. Richard never knew why Hagrid had been expelled either and when the two of them decided to confront William about it, since neither of their grandparents would say a word, all William did was tell them some secrets are better left in the dark and some dark things were better left secrets.

"An Engorgement Charm I suppose?" said Hermione, halfway between disapproval and amusement. "Well. you've done a good job on them."

"That's what yer little sister said," said Hagrid, nodding at Ron. "Met her jus' yesterday." Hagrid looked sideways at Harry, his beard twitching. "Said she was jus' lookin' round the grounds, but I reckon she was hopin' she might run inter someone else at my house." He winked at Harry. "If yeh ask me, _she_ wouldn' say no ter a signed —"

"Oh, shut up," said Harry. Elizabeth stifled her giggle, hiding her smile behind her hand. Ron snorted with laughter and the ground was sprayed with slugs.

"Watch it!" Hagrid roared, pulling Ron away from his precious pumpkins.

It was nearly lunchtime and they were keen on getting back to school to eat. They said good-bye to Hagrid and walked back up to the castle, Ron hiccoughing occasionally, but only bringing up two very small slugs.

They had barely set foot in the cool entrance hall when a voice rang out, "There you are, Potter — Weasley." Professor McGonagall was walking toward them, looking stern. Elizabeth stepped slightly behind Hermione for safety, in case McGonagall had heard about the Slytherin's cursed broomsticks.

"You will both do your detentions this evening."

"What're we doing, Professor?" said Ron, nervously suppressing a burp.

She assigned Ron to help Filch polish every bit of silver in the trophy room, with no magic whatsoever. Elizabeth thought this an unjust punishment, until she gave Harry his detention: helping Lockhart answer his fanmail. He definitely got the worse deal of the two, but Elizabeth was happy to have gotten away with the confrontation from that morning. At least for now she had.

* * *

**A/N:** Plot and quotes from Harry Potter and The Chamber of Secrets by J.K. Rowling, chapter Seven, Mudbloods and Murmurs pages 110 to 117.

Flagrante had no incantation given in the books so I created one for the purposes of this chapter.


	8. Chapter Eight

October had fallen and Thomas' birthday present was long since sent. Richard had done the same as last year. He had taken the liberty of getting a present on his own, failing to mention what it was to Elizabeth, making her sign the letter he had written to Thomas for the both of them, and sent it off without another word on the matter. Elizabeth really wished he would let her have some sort of say in the decision making, but he simply thought her incapable of giving Thomas a proper birthday present. He was always underestimating her like that.

Elizabeth had bigger things to worry about, though. A recent spring of colds had been going around the castle and Margaret was sending letters nearly daily to nag Richard and her to keep their health up. Elizabeth didn't understand why, since they could just take Madam Pomfrey's Pepperup potion and be good as new, although smoking at the ears for several hours, but Margaret insisted it best not to catch one at all. Poor Ginny seemed to have come down with one and Percy had to practically force her to take the potion. The steam pouring from under her vivid hair gave the impression that her whole head was on fire.

The Slytherin Quidditch team had also kept up the taunting, despite what had happened, and Oliver Wood was so determined not to lose to them again this year that he was forcing the Gryffindor Quidditch team to practise, rain or shine, despite the cold and the recent spring of flues. Elizabeth was wondering how Harry had managed to avoid catching something coming back every weekend drenched in mud and looking peaked.

Rain was lashing the windows of the common room, which were now inky black, but inside looked all bright and cheerful. The firelight glowed over the countless squashy armchairs where people sat reading, talking, doing coursework, or in the case of Fred and George Weasley, trying to find out what would happen if they fed a Filibuster firework to a salamander. Fred had "rescued" the brilliant orange, fire-dwelling lizard from a Care of Magical Creatures class and it was now smouldering gently on a table surrounded by a knot of curious people. Elizabeth couldn't help but keep glancing over at it.

"Elizabeth!" Hermione scolded her. "Pay attention to your coursework."

"I am," Elizabeth said, still staring at the salamander. "Potions. We're doing Potions."

"You will never finish your coursework if you don't _work_ on it."

"Bunk." She turned to face Hermione. "I'm already heaps ahead of Ron and he's been at it longer than I have."

Ron grumbled something incoherently. He was always a bit defensive when Hermione made him do his coursework.

Elizabeth perked up when she saw Harry enter the common room. He quickly joined the three of them.

"How was practise?" Elizabeth asked.

"Cold and wet," Harry replied. "Filch tried to punish me for dripping mud over the castle, but Nearly Headless Nick helped me."

Elizabeth did like Sir Nicholas. He was always willing to help a Gryffindor and more than once had she had a pleasant conversation with him while wandering about the castle. Margaret did warn not to get friendly with the ghosts, but Elizabeth never really listened to Margaret all that much anyway.

"He invited us to his deathday party."

"A deathday party?" said Hermione keenly. "I bet there aren't many living people who can say they've been to one of those — it'll be fascinating!"

"Why would anyone want to celebrate the day they died?" said Ron, who was halfway through his Potions coursework and grumpy.

"Because, it's an important moment in the life of a ghost," Elizabeth said. "Well, afterlife technically. Just like a person's birthday."

Harry had told them all about Sir Nicholas getting Peeves to cause a distraction, and was at the point of telling them about Flich's Kwikspell course when Fred and George's salamander suddenly whizzed into the air, emitting loud sparks and bangs as it whirled wildly round the room. Percy bellowed at Fred and George as tangerine stars showered from the salamander's mouth before it escaped into the fire, causing more explosions.

Elizabeth quickly focused on her coursework, scribbling furiously with her quill. She suddenly stopped and looked at Hermione. She picked up her parchment. "I finished." She held it out toward Hermione. "You want to check it over?"

Halloween arrived and while the rest of the school was happily anticipating their Halloween feast, Elizabeth was sulking. The Great Hall had been decorated with the usual live bats, Hagrid's vast pumpkins had been carved into lanterns large enough for three men to sit in, and there were rumours that Dumbledore had booked a troupe of dancing skeletons for entertainment. Richard was surely going to exaggerate how great it was later just to spite Elizabeth.

"A promise is a promise," Hermione reminded Harry bossily. "You said you'd go to the deathday party."

"Yeah, _he_ said," Elizabeth whinged. "Why does that mean we have to go?"

But Elizabeth went ignored, and at seven o'clock, the four of them walked straight passed the doorway to the packed Great Hall, which was glittering invitingly with gold plates and candles, and directed their steps instead toward the dungeon. She wanted to go to the feast with everyone else, but she knew Hermione was right. A promise was a promise, and even if Harry made it for them, Sir Nicholas had invited all four of them and they should honour that invitation.

The passageway leading to Nearly Headless Nick's party had been lines with candles, too, though the effect was far from cheerful: These were long, thin, jet-black tapers, all burning bright blue, casting a dim, ghostly light even over their own living faces. The temperature dropped with every step they took. Elizabeth wrapped her arms around herself tightly as she heard what sounded like a thousand fingernails scraping an enormous blackboard.

"Is that supposed to be _music_?" Ron whispered. They turned a corner and saw Nearly Headless Nick standing at a doorway hung with black velvet drapes.

"My dear friends," he said mournfully. "Welcome, welcome...so pleased you could come..." He swept off his plumed hat and bowed them inside.

It was an incredible sight. The dungeon was full of hundreds of pearly-white, translucent people, mostly drifting around a crowded dance floor, waltzing to the dreadful, quavering sound of thirty musical saws, played by an orchestra on a raised, black-draped platform. A chandelier overhead blazed midnight-blue with a thousand more black candles. Their breath rose in a mist before them; it was like stepping into a freezer.

Elizabeth had heard about deathday parties from her uncle, who used to sneak down into the dungeons in hopes of crashing one. He never actually managed. He said the overwhelming cold and irritating music stopped him. Thomas said that was normal of deathday parties. It was less of a party and more of a tragedy he said, and that William should have shown more respect for the ghosts of the castle than to try and crash their get-togethers. Thomas rarely ever said anything disapproving of William, so Elizabeth took this to heart. Even if she didn't want to be there, she was going to be on her best behaviour.

"Shall we have a look around?" Harry suggested.

"Careful not to walk through anyone," said Ron nervously, and they set off around the edge of the dance floor.

They passed a group of gloomy nuns, a ragged man wearing chains, and the Fat Friar, who was talking to a knight with an arrow sticking out of his forehead. Elizabeth stayed close to Harry as they shifted around the room. The Bloody Baron was being given a wide berth by the other ghosts and Elizabeth wasn't going anywhere near him either. Harry seemed not to want to get acquainted with him as well. He moved closer to Elizabeth, pressing against her side, as they passed the open area around the Baron. She felt her face flush as she took hold of Harry's hand, but was quickly pulled away from him. Hermione grabbed the back of her robes and yanked Elizabeth to her side.

"Turn back, turn back," Hermione said. "We don't want to talk to Moaning Myrtle."

Harry turned around when Elizabeth and Hermione backtracked quickly. "Who?" he asked.

"She haunts one of the toilets in the girls' room on the second floor," said Hermione.

"She haunts a _toilet_?"

Elizabeth nodded. "She's a right nightmare."

"Elizabeth," Hermione scolded. "It's been out-of-order all year because she keeps having tantrums and flooding the place. I never went in there anyway if I could avoid it."

"I met her by accident." Elizabeth remembered her first encounter with Moaning Myrtle last year near the end of term. "I won't even walk passed the second floor toilet anymore. You go down the corridor and all you can hear is her crying."

"It's awful trying to go to the loo with her wailing at you —"

"Look, food!" said Ron.

On the other side of the dungeon was a long table, also covered in black velvet. They approached it eagerly, but next moment had stopped in their tracks, horrified. Elizabeth held her breath. The smell was quite disgusting. Large, rotten fish were laid on handsome silver platters; cakes, burned charcoal-black, were heaped on salvers; there was a great maggoty haggis, a slab of cheese covered in furry green mould, and, in pride of place, an enormous grey cake in the shape of a tombstone, with tar-like icing forming the words,

**SIR NICHOLAS DE MIMSY-PORPINGTON**

**DIED 31ST October, 1492**

"How fitting to die on Halloween," said Elizabeth, genuinely thinking Halloween would be the only suitable time in the living world for such a party. Hermione glared at her, but Ron nodded in agreement.

Elizabeth watched on in disgust as a portly ghost approached the table, crouched low, and walked through it, his mouth held wide so that it passed through one of the stinking salmon.

"Can you taste it if you walk through it?" Harry asked him.

"Almost," said the ghost sadly, and he drifted away.

Elizabeth was quite certain William would not have wanted to crash a deathday party if he knew that there would be no edible food, the ghosts were quite miserable, and the Bloody Baron was in attendance. She didn't even want to be there and she had been invited.

"I expect they've let it rot to give it a stronger flavour," said Hermione knowledgeably, pinching her nose and leaning closer to look at the putrid haggis.

"Can we move? I feel sick," said Ron.

"Wow, food making Ron ill," Elizabeth said. "Who would've ever thunk it possible?"

Ron was clearly not amused. "Ha ha."

They barely turned around, however, when a little man swooped suddenly from under the table and came to a halt in midair before them. Elizabeth recognised him immediately, and she was sure he was all too familiar with her after the events of last year. Peeves the Poltergeist was the very reverse of pale and transparent. He was wearing a bright orange party hat, and despite Elizabeth being very fond of the colour orange, so much so her bathrobe was orange, she thought it simply clashed with his revolving bow tie. He had a broad grin on his wide, wicked face. Elizabeth ducked behind Ron, hoping that Peeves wouldn't see her and decide to get her back for her antics toward him.

"Nibbles?" he said sweetly, offering them a bowl of peanuts covered in fungus.

"No thanks," said Hermione.

"Heard you talking about poor Myrtle," said Peeves, his eyes dancing. "_Rude_ you and Izzy Wizzy was about poor Myrtle."

Elizabeth cursed under her breath. Peeves had spotted her.

He took a deep breath and bellowed, "OY! MYRTLE!"

Elizabeth jumped out from behind Ron. "Peeves!" she hissed. "Shut it!"

"Peeves, don't tell her what we said, she'll be really upset," Hermione whispered frantically. "We didn't mean it. Right, Elizabeth?"

"No." Elizabeth played along.

"We don't mind her — er, hello, Myrtle."

The squat ghost that was Moaning Myrtle glided over with the glummest face of anyone at the party. She had the saddest expression of any ghost, person, being, or animal that Elizabeth had ever seen, and those hunting dogs of Michael's looked like they'd cry if they could. Her face was half-hidden behind lank hair and thick, pearly spectacles.

"What?" she said sulkily.

"How are you, Myrtle?" Hermione asked in a falsely bright voice. "It's nice to see you out of the toilet." She tapped Elizabeth's arm.

"What? Oh yeah," Elizabeth agreed with Hermione. "Good to see you out and socialising for a change."

"Elizabeth!"

Myrtle sniffled.

"Miss Granger and Izzy Wizzy was just talking about you —" said Peeves slyly in Myrtle's ear.

"I hate you, Peeves," Elizabeth said.

"Elizabeth!" Hermione pinched her.

"Ow!"

"We were just saying — saying — how nice you look tonight," said Hermione, glaring at Peeves. "Liz is right. It's great you're out tonight. You look great."

"Fantastic, even," Elizabeth added.

Myrtle eyed them suspiciously. "You're making fun of me," she said, silver tears welling rapidly in her small, see-through eyes.

"No!"

"No — honestly — didn't we just say how nice Myrtle's looking?" said Hermione, nudging Ron painfully in the ribs.

"Oh, yeah —"

Elizabeth poked Harry in the back to get him to speak up. "They did —"

"Don't lie to me," Myrtle gasped, tears now flooding down her face, while Peeves chuckled happily over her shoulder. "D'you think I don't know what people call me behind my back? Fat Myrtle! Ugly Myrtle! Miserable, moaning, moping Myrtle!"

Elizabeth hated to agree, but Myrtle was miserable, she moaned, and she certainly did mope. Fat and ugly were debatable. Myrtle wasn't anything to look at, but then again she was a ghost. Elizabeth didn't really know what she looked like when she was solid and actually in colour, as opposed to the transparent, greyish, glowing figure floating in front of her. Margaret said Myrtle was picked on for her appearance, but she died so young, who knows what she could have grown up to look like. Not that looks mattered anyway. Margaret always told Elizabeth not to judge someone by their appearance, even if she was guilty of this herself. She described one of William's childhood friends as "that chubby boy" and she always told William that he would never be taken seriously if he didn't clean up his manner of dress and his unkept hair.

She was well aware that appearance made no difference when it came to personality. Hermione looked rather like a beaver having a bad hair day with her teeth and bushy hair, but she was the smartest student at Hogwarts. Harry was terribly awkward looking. His hair was permanently disheveled, his old, worn and often too big for him clothes made him look small and timid when Harry was one of the bravest people she had met, and she never would have guessed he could be athletic with those glasses of his. Ron, however, looked exactly how she thought he would for the qualities he had, except for being thin. With how much he stuffed his face, she would have expected Ron to be referred to by Margaret as Elizabeth's chubby friend and not that lanky kid. Myrtle's appearance didn't surprise her at all. She honestly looked as miserable as she acted.

"You've forgotten pimply," Peeves hissed in her ear.

Moaning Myrtle burst into anguished sobs and fled from the dungeon. Peeves shot after her, pelting her with mouldy peanuts, yelling "_Pimply! Pimply!_"

"Peeves!" Elizabeth called after him.

"Oh dear," said Hermione sadly.

"Someone should get the Baron after him."

They all just stood there silently until Sir Nicholas drifted toward them through the crowd.

"Enjoying yourselves?"

"Oh, yes," they lied.

"Not a bad turnout," said Sir Nicholas proudly. "The Wailing Widow came all the way up from Kent...It's nearly time for my speech. I better go and warn the orchestra..."

The orchestra, however, stopped playing at that very moment. They, and everyone else in the dungeon, fell silent, looking around in excitement, as a hunting horn sounded.

"Oh, here we go," said Sir Nicholas bitterly.

Through the dungeon wall burst a dozen ghost horses, each ridden by a headless horseman. The assembly clapped wildly. Elizabeth crossed her arms over her chest, knowing very well that Sir Nicholas was about to go into a very sour mood, and she felt right bad that he would be so cross at his own deathday party. He was so excited about it before. It was just like the time Claudius was excited for his birthday. He planned a party and everything. Thomas had talked Margaret into letting him have it at the house, as he had no residence of his own. He was staying in the guest room at the time. He failed to invite his mother, as she was even less accepting than Margaret, but she showed anyway and ruined the whole day. William then went and made it worse by saying it was the perfect example of why birthdays bring nothing but misery and bad memories. Poor Claudius, Elizabeth thought. He just wanted to be happy and the people in his life would have none of it.

Harry started to clap until Elizabeth grabbed his hands. "Don't," she said sternly.

The horses galloped into the middle of the dance floor and halted, rearing and plunging. At the front of the pack was a large ghost who held his bearded head under his arm, from which position he was blowing the horn. Elizabeth figured him as Sir Patrick Delaney-Podmore, leader of the Headless Hunt. William had told Elizabeth that Sir Nicholas did not like to be called Nearly Headless Nick, as it reminded him of his botched beheading, and, because his head was not completely severed, he could not be considered headless. Elizabeth thought this was a good thing until William told her it meant that Sir Nicholas was excluded from the Headless Hunt, and was still upset about it after all these years. The Headless Hunt was a group of beheaded ghosts, lead by Sir Patrick. Sir Nicholas had quite a beef with him, as he seemed to ridicule poor Nick for not being able to be awarded membership on the technicality of still having his head attached by a bit of skin and sinew.

Sir Patrick leapt off his horse and lifted his head high in the air so he could see over the crowd. Everyone laughed, except Elizabeth, who had decided she wouldn't like anyone who didn't like Sir Nick. He strode over to Nick and squashed his head back onto his neck.

"Nick!" he roared. "How are you? Head still hanging in there?" He gave a hearty guffaw and clapped Nick on the shoulder.

"Welcome, Patrick," said Nick stiffly.

"Live 'uns!" said Sir Patrick, spotting Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Elizabeth. He gave a huge, fake jump of astonishment, so that his head fell off again and the crowd howled with laughter.

"Very amusing," Nick said darkly.

"Don't mind Nick!" shouted Sir Patrick's head from the floor. "Still upset we won't let him join the Hunt! But I mean to say — look at the fellow —"

"I think," said Harry hurriedly, "Nick's very — frightening and — er —"

"Ha!" yelled Sir Patrick's head. "Bet he asked you to say that!"

Elizabeth pulled her foot back, ready to punt Sir Patrick's head like a rugby player going for a drop goal. It didn't occur to her at the moment that it would have gone right through him anyway. Hermione quickly grabbed by the her arm and swung Elizabeth around to stand on the other side of her.

"If I could have everyone's attention, it's time for my speech!" said Sir Nicholas loudly, striding toward the podium and climbing into an icy blue spotlight. "My late lamented lords, ladies, and gentlemen, it is my great sorrow..."

But nobody heard much more. Sir Patrick and the rest of the Headless Hunt had just started a game of Head Hockey and the crowd were turning to watch. Nick tried vainly to recapture his audience, but gave up as Sir Patrick's head went sailing past him to loud cheers.

"Should've let me kick him," Elizabeth whispered to Hermione.

"He's a ghost. It would have gone right through him."

"I can't stand much more of this," Ron muttered, his teeth chattering away, as the orchestra ground back into action and the ghosts swept back onto the dance floor.

"Let's go," Harry agreed.

They backed toward the door, nodding and beaming at anyone who looked at them, and a minute later they were hurrying back up the passageway full of black candles.

"Pudding might not be finished yet," said Ron hopefully, leading the way toward the steps to the entrance hall.

Harry stumbled to a halt, clutching at the stone wall. He looked around, squinting up and down the dimly lit passageway. Elizabeth stopped next to Harry and put her hand on his shoulder.

"Harry?" she asked worriedly. "Harry, are you all right? What're you — ?"

"It's that voice again — shut up a minute —" He paused for a second. "Listen!"

They all froze, watching him. Elizabeth gently rubbed his back as he stared at the dark ceiling.

"This way!" he shouted.

He began to run, up the stairs, into the entrance hall. Elizabeth took off after him immediately. The sounds of the students enjoying the Halloween feast echoed out of the Great Hall. Harry sprinted up the marble staircase to the first floor. Ron and Hermione were clattering behind them.

"Harry!" Elizabeth called after him. "Harry, what're we —"

"SHH!" He stopped for a moment to listen.

Elizabeth caught up with him. She gingerly touched his forearm. "Harry —"

"It's going to kill someone!" he shouted.

Elizabeth was glad to see Ron and Hermione looking just as bewildered as she was. She knew Harry to remain surprisingly composed in situations that would test her patience. He was a voice of reason, but he was acting downright mad. There was no audible voice besides her own trying to calm Harry down and figure out what he was doing. She had to admit she was quite fond of him, but he was scaring her at that moment.

He ran up the next flight of steps three at a time. Elizabeth had trouble keeping up with his pace, especially on the stairs. Ron dashed right passed her. Harry hurtled around the whole of the second floor, his three best friends panting behind him, not stopping until they turned a corner into the last, deserted passage.

"Harry, _what_ was that all about?" said Ron, wiping sweat off his face.

Elizabeth nearly collapsed into Harry when they stopped running. "Harry," she panted as she grabbed him to hold herself up. "Harry, there's no voice. The music at the deathday party must have warped your hearing. Right, Ron?"

Ron agreed. "I couldn't hear anything..."

But Hermione gave a sudden gasp, pointing down the corridor. "_Look!_"

Elizabeth peered down the corridor to where Hermione was pointing. Something was shining on the wall ahead. She let go of Harry and they approached slowly, squinting through the darkness. Foot-high words had been daubed on the wall between two windows, shimmering in the light cast by the flaming torches.

**THE CHAMBER OF SECRETS HAS BEEN OPENED. ENEMIES OF THE HEIR, BEWARE.**

Elizabeth had a weird feeling in the pit of her stomach. She swore she had heard of the Chamber of Secrets before. It certainly sounded familiar, like she had read it in one of her books. She was feeling uneasy though, and that paired with her hunger from missing the feast was making her feel like she was about to vomit. The threat at the end of the message was what worried her. Enemies of the Heir, beware. She had heard that before. She could hear it in her head. A man's voice, low and gruff, whispering it maliciously. She could hear the whole sentence in a voice she recognised, but couldn't place.

"What's that thing — hanging underneath?" There was a slight quiver in Ron's voice.

As they edged nearer, Harry almost slipped — there was a large puddle of water on the floor. Elizabeth tried to grab him, but realised her mistake when she lost her balance and fell right into the puddle instead. Ron and Hermione had caught Harry and he extended his hand to help Elizabeth up. She didn't want to stand, as her robes were now soaked and sticking to her backside, but she took his hand and he pulled her up. She tried to examine the back of her robes, but the dim light didn't show anything. She could feel the cold water through her clothes.

"Liz," Ron said, reminding her of why they were walking through the water in the first place.

They inched toward the message, eyes fixed on a dark shadow beneath it. All four of them realised what it was at once, and leapt backwards with a splash. Elizabeth had forgotten all about her wet robes, as she was sure Mr. Filch was going to be beside himself when he saw Mrs. Norris hanging by her tail from the torch bracket. She was stiff as a board, her eyes wide and staring.

For a few seconds, they didn't move. Then Ron said, "Let's get out of here."

"Shouldn't we try and help —" Harry began slowly. Elizabeth just shook her head.

"Trust me," Ron said. "We don't want to be found here."

But it was too late. A rumble, as though of distant thunder, told them that the feast had just ended. From either side of the corridor where they stood came the sound of hundreds of feet climbing the stairs, and the loud, happy talk of well-fed people. Elizabeth had all but forgotten about her own hunger when students came crashing into the passage from both ends.

All of a sudden, the happy noise died as the people in front spotted the hanging cat. The four of them stood alone, in the middle of the corridor, as silence fell among the mass of students pressing forward to see the grisly sight. Elizabeth realised very quickly how suspicious it looked of them all and wished desperately for Harry's invisibility cloak to disappear under.

Then someone shouted through the quiet.

"Enemies of the Heir, beware! You'll be next, Mudbloods!"

It was Draco Malfoy. He had pushed to the front of the crowd, his cold eyes alive, his usually bloodless face flushed, as he grinned at the sight of the hanging cat.

Richard came pushing through the crowd at the sound of Malfoy's outburst. He stopped before the puddle and his eyes fell on the writing on the wall. He spotted Elizabeth next and his lips parted slightly. No words came out, but she swore she saw him breathe out, "Gramps."

* * *

**A/N:** Plot and quotes from Harry Potter and The Chamber of Secrets by J.K. Rowling, chapter Eight, The Deathday Party, pages 122 and 130 to 139.


	9. Chapter Nine

"What's going on here? What's going on?"

Argus Filch came shouldering his way through the crowd. Then he saw Mrs. Norris and fell back, clutching his face in horror. Richard grabbed Elizabeth by her robes and pulled her against him for safety. She was certain he could feel her wet robes, dampening his clothes as he held her in place, his hands on her shoulders.

"My cat! My cat! What's happened to Mrs. Norris?" he shrieked. And his popping eyes fell on Harry. "_You!_" he screeched. "_You!_ You've murdered my cat! You've killed her! I'll kill you! I'll —"

Richard shoved Elizabeth behind him and pulled his wand on Filch.

"_Argus!_" Dumbledore had arrived on the scene, followed by a number of other teachers.

Professor McGonagall lowered Richard's wand with a stern glare, but not a word. Dumbledore swept passed them and detached Mrs. Norris from the torch bracket.

"Come with me, Argus," he said to Filch. "You, too, Mr. Potter, Mr. Weasley, Miss Granger, Miss Wellington."

"And you, Mr. Wellington." Professor McGonagall seised his arm.

Lockhart stepped forward eagerly. "My office is nearest, Headmaster — just upstairs — please feel free —"

"Thank you, Gilderoy," said Dumbledore.

The silent crowd parted to let them pass. Lockhart, looking excited and important, hurried after Dumbledore. Professor McGonagall never let go of Richard and Elizabeth was less than pleased to see Professor Snape accompanying them as well.

As they entered Lockhart's darkened office there was a flurry of movement across the walls. Several of the Lockharts in the pictures dodged out of sight, their hair in rollers. Elizabeth would have scoffed if she were not in trouble and thought that keeping all sounds that came out of her to a minimum would be best. The real Lockhart lit the candles on his desk and stood back. Dumbledore lay Mrs. Norris on the polished surface and began to examine her. Elizabeth couldn't help but think that Margaret would have a few words in this situation, as animals shouldn't be on tables and desks. They belonged on the floor she claimed.

The four of them exchanged tense looks and sank into chairs outside the pool of candlelight, watching. Professor McGonagall let go of Richard's arm. He immediately sank back with Elizabeth, rubbing his arm where he was being held.

Dumbledore's crooked nose was almost in Mrs. Norris' fur as he examined her. He was examining her closely through his half-moon spectacles. He was poking and prodding the stiff cat and Professor McGonagall leaned close to examine her with him. Snape loomed behind them, half in shadow, wearing a most peculiar expression: It was as though he was trying hard not to smile. Elizabeth didn't care for Mrs. Norris and her owner, but she thought it terribly inappropriate to be pleased at a time like this. Mrs. Norris had been murdered and hung by her tail. She was a miserable creature, but not even Elizabeth felt the slightest bit of happiness over it.

Lockhart was hovering around all of them, making suggestions. "It was definitely a curse that killed her — probably the Transmogrifian Torture — I've seen it used many times, so unlucky I wasn't there, I know the very countercurse that would have saved her..."

Elizabeth Wellington knew one thing very well and that was Defence Against the Dark Arts. She knew curses, she knew hexes, she knew countercurses, protection spells, defensive maneuvers if she were ever caught in a fight with a Dark witch or wizard. One of the perks of having an Auror for an uncle. Margaret told William not to scare the children with such things, but as they got older, she couldn't deny it was good to know, so both Richard and Elizabeth had a knowledge of Dark Magic that other students their age did not. Elizabeth also knew there was no such thing as the Transmogrifian Torture. Lockhart was making it up. If anyone were to ask Elizabeth, she'd say poor Mrs. Norris was hit with the killing curse, so she was really glad that no one had asked.

Lockhart's comments were punctuated by Filch's dry, racking sobs. He was slumped in a chair by the desk, face in hands, unable to look at Mrs. Norris. That was all Elizabeth needed to secure the thought she had last year that Mr. Filch was exactly the kind of pathetic man to marry a cat.

Dumbledore muttered under his breath and tapped Mrs. Norris' body with his wand, but nothing happened. She looked like a stuffed decoration, the kind of unpleasantly dark looking ones Elizabeth was used to seeing in the dusty, dim windows of Borgin & Burkes in Knockturn Alley.

"...I remember something very similar happening in Ouagadogou," said Lockhart.

Elizabeth's face scrunched up in disbelief at Lockhart's mention of the African city. She thought the alleged attacks Lockhart claimed there were ridiculous, as there was a Ministry of Magic in Burkina Faso and they had reported no such thing ever occurring.

"A series of attacks," Lockhart continued, "the full story's in my autobiography, I was able to provide the townsfolk with various amulets, which cleared the matter up at once..."

The photographs of Lockhart on the walls were nodding in agreement as he talked. Elizabeth tried not to laugh at the one picture Lockhart that had forgotten to remove his hair net.

Dumbledore straightened up. "She's not dead, Argus," he said softly.

Lockhart stopped abruptly in the middle of counting the number of murders he had prevented. Even Elizabeth was surprised.

"Not dead?" choked Filch, looking through his fingers at Mrs. Norris. "But why's she all — all stiff and frozen?"

"She has been Petrified," said Dumbledore.

Elizabeth rolled her eyes as Lockhart exclaimed, "Ah! I thought so!"

"But how, I cannot say..." Dumbledore finished.

"Ask _him_!" shrieked Filch, turning his blotched and tearstained face to Harry.

"No second year could have done this," said Dumbledore firmly. "It would take Dark Magic of the most advanced —"

At the sound of Dark Magic, Elizabeth tensed up. Margaret had a rule: No Dark Magic is to be mentioned outside of the house. It was a hard rule to follow, as William's whole purpose in life seemed to be putting an end to the use of Dark Magic. He was constantly on the hunt for wizards and witches, and he had a personal vendetta against Fenrir Greyback. Margaret liked to keep it a hushed subject, saying Dark witches and wizards could be listening, but William said if they were, best for the children to know how to handle it. Thomas always agreed with this, telling Margaret it was their war to inherit someday, but Margaret promptly ended the discussion. She insisted the war was over and all the talk of Unforgivable Curses and followers of Voldemort should be left in the past where it belonged. She had no trouble with knowing countercurses and how to protect oneself, but her refusal to talk of the past was ridiculous. Elizabeth knew better than to believe evil would ever subside in the world. She had been through Knockturn Alley. She had met Mr. Malfoy and the company he kept. She knew just as well as William and Thomas that Dark Magic was still in heavy use and now it was being used in Hogwarts.

"He did it, he did it!" Filch spat, his pouchy face purpling. "You saw what he wrote on the wall! He found — in my office — he knows I'm a — I'm a —" Filch's face worked horribly. "He knows I'm a Squib!" he finished.

Richard jumped forward, clearly having had enough. "So does everybody! It's no secret you're a vindictive little Squib!"

Richard was always taught to respect his elders. Elizabeth was too, but she hardly followed anything Margaret had taught her. Richard, on the other hand, was a bit uptight sometimes when it came to rules. There were certain things he was always telling Elizabeth, like when he said she should respect Hagrid as her elder and not befriend him, but Filch was his elder and he certainly wasn't respecting him now.

"Mr. Wellington, control yourself," Professor McGonagall said.

"I never _touched_ Mrs. Norris!" Harry said loudly. Everyone looked at him, including all the Lockharts on the walls. "And I don't even know what a Squib _is_."

Elizabeth leaned over to Harry to tell him, but Richard pulled her away. "_Elizabeth Ann_," he hissed.

"Rubbish!" snarled Filch. "He saw my Kwikspell letter!"

"If I might speak, Headmaster," said Snape from the shadows. Elizabeth was sure Snape had nothing helpful to say whatsoever. In fact, she was fairly certain he was only speaking up to suggest a punishment for them all. "Potter and his friends may have simply been in the wrong place at the wrong time," he said, a slight sneer curling his mouth as though he doubted it.

Elizabeth couldn't believe it. Professor Snape was a right git. He always sided with his own house and he took points from all of them for the most ridiculous of reasons. If he had the opportunity to get Harry in trouble, he would most certainly take it. He had an extreme dislike of Harry, and Elizabeth felt his pain, because Snape also had an extreme dislike of Elizabeth, or rather a dislike of William that he took out on Elizabeth.

"But we do have a set of suspicious circumstances here," he said. There went the notion of Snape being benevolent for once. "Why was he in the upstairs corridor at all? Why wasn't he at the Halloween feast?"

The four of them launched into an explanation about the deathday party. "...there were hundreds of ghosts, they'll tell you were were there —"

"But why not join the feast afterward?" said Snape, his black eyes glittering in the candlelight. "Why go up to that corridor?"

They looked to Harry to explain.

"Because — because —" Harry said.

Elizabeth held her breath. Harry couldn't tell Dumbledore about the voice. No one else had heard it. To them, he had just gone frantic, running through the castle like a nutter. The only voice in the hall whispering to Harry was her own, concerned about his actions. No one would believe him when he said a mysterious voice, that neither Ron, Hermione, nor Elizabeth could hear, led him to the second floor. Elizabeth didn't even believe him herself and she was usually quick to give Harry the benefit of the doubt.

"Because we were tired and wanted to go to bed," he lied.

She was relieved he hadn't mentioned it. She wanted to believe Harry, but even he had to know how preposterous the whole story sounded to everyone but him, and she was there when it happened.

"Without any supper?" A triumphant smile flickered across Snape's gaunt face. "I didn't think ghosts provided food fit for living people at their parties."

"We weren't hungry," said Ron loudly as his stomach gave a huge rumble. Even if it hadn't, Elizabeth was sure that no one would ever believe that Ron Weasley wasn't hungry.

Snape's nasty smile widened.

"The feast was almost over by the time we left the party," Elizabeth spoke up. Snape's cold eyes fell on her. "We knew all the food would've been gone anyway."

Snape's smile turned to a scowl. "I suggest, Headmaster, that Potter is not being entirely truthful. It might be a good idea if he were deprived of certain privileges until he, and his accomplices, are ready to tell us the whole story. I personally feel he should be taken off the Gryffindor Quidditch team until he is ready to be honest."

"Really, Severus," said Professor McGonagall sharply. "I see no reason to stop the boy playing Quidditch. This cat wasn't hit on the head with a broomstick. There is no evidence at all that Potter has done anything wrong."

Dumbledore was giving Harry a searching look. "Innocent until proven guilty, Severus," he said firmly.

Snape looked furious. So did Filch.

"My cat has been Petrified!" he shrieked, his eyes popping. "I want to see some _punishment_!"

"_Punishment?_" Richard seemed to be ready to attack Filch that night. It was rather out of character for him. "No one's done anything. Dumbledore said it was Dark Magic. None of us can do that."

"I wouldn't say _none_ of you." Filch eyed him like he was responsible and Richard seemed to pick up on the accusatory glare.

"I didn't Petrify your cat. I don't even know how to do that."

"A Wellington not know how to curse someone? He's lying!"

"We'll be able to cure her, Argus," said Dumbledore patiently. "Professor Sprout recently managed to procure some Mandrakes. As soon as they have reached their full size, I will have a potion made that will revive Mrs. Norris."

"I'll make it," Lockhart butted in. "I must have done it a hundred times."

Elizabeth had just enough of Gilderoy Lockhart and his outrageous stories. If she had to read or hear one more incorrect fact from that man, she'd lose it. Now, Marcus Flint didn't call Richard the Lord of Ravenclaw as a compliment. Her family had been attending Hogwarts since its founding and their inquisitive, fact seeking nature landed almost all of them in Ravenclaw. There was the occasional rebel, such as William and Elizabeth winding up in Gryffindor, but that didn't make them any less intelligent than their relatives in Ravenclaw. Research and memorising information was a family trait, regardless of house, and Elizabeth found it rather insulting to history and magic for Gilderoy Lockhart to be making up nonexistent curses and claiming he solved magical issues that never even happened. She didn't know how he wasn't working Richard's nerves with his nonsense as much as he was annoying her. More so, she wondered what Filch had done lately to wind up so far on Richard's bad side he was willing to accost him in front of Dumbledore.

Lockhart continued, "I could whip up a Mandrake Restorative Draught in my sleep —"

"Excuse me," said Snape icily. "But I believe I am the Potions master at this school."

There was an awkward pause. Elizabeth tried not to smile at Snape putting Lockhart in his place. She may have disliked Snape, but he had his moments.

"You may go," Dumbledore told them.

Before the five of them reached of the door, Professor McGonagall said, "Not you, Mr. Wellington. There's the matter of pulling your wand on a staff member."

Richard sighed. "Go back to your dormitory and stay out of trouble, Elizabeth Ann," he said loud enough for the entire room to hear. He lowered his voice to a barely audible whisper. "Keep your wand ready." He nodded at them as they left the room quickly.

When they were up a floor from Lockhart's office, they turned into an empty classroom and closed the door behind them. Elizabeth gripped her wand firmly in her hand.

"D'you think I should have told them about the voice I heard?" Harry asked.

"No," said Ron, without hesitation. "Hearing voices no one else can hear isn't a good sign, even in the wizarding world."

"You believe me, don't you?"

"'Course I do," said Ron quickly. "But — you must admit it's weird..."

Elizabeth was trying to avoid Harry's eyes, even though she could barely make anything out in the dark.

"Liz?" Harry said her name. "You believe me, right?"

She wished he hadn't asked that. She wished she did believe him, but it was just a little too far fetched in her mind. Elizabeth knew that Harry was a tad bit odd to begin with, but this was odd even for Harry. He could say his scar hurt and she'd believe him after last year. He could say he had dreams of Voldemort and she would not only believe he really did, but that they meant something. However, the mysterious voice had no explanation. There was no connection to Voldemort, or bad memories from Harry's past. She found it entirely bizarre.

She hesitated. "I agree with Ron. It's just...weird. They used to burn people in the Muggle world as witches for hearing voices, Harry. Professor Binns taught us that."

"Since when do you listen to Binns?" Ron questioned. Elizabeth smacked his arm.

"I know it's weird," said Harry. "The whole thing's weird. What was that writing on the wall about? _The Chamber Has Been Opened_...What's that supposed to mean?"

"You know, it rings a sort of bell," said Ron slowly.

"I've heard of it, too," Elizabeth said.

"I think someone told me a story about a secret chamber at Hogwarts once...might've been Bill..."

"Richard whispered something about Gramps. Maybe that's where I've heard it. Him...or maybe Uncle William."

"Yeah," Ron scoffed. "From your crackpot uncle probably." Elizabeth kicked him in the shin. "Ow!"

Harry interrupted their fight before it could start. "Hey, Liz, what's a squib?"

Ron stifled a snigger.

"It's not funny, Ron," Elizabeth said.

"Sure it is. Well — it's not funny really — but as it's Filch," he said. "A Squib is someone who was born into a wizarding family but hasn't got any magic powers."

"It's rather disgraceful actually," Elizabeth added. "Most live in the Muggle world, you know, where they fit in better, so Merlin knows why Filch would stick around and be constantly reminded he's the only one in the entire school that isn't capable of magic."

Ron sniggered again. "Yeah, it's kind of the opposite of Muggle-born wizards, but Squibs are quite unusual."

"Rare really."

"If Filch's trying to learn magic from a Kwikspell course, I reckon he must be a Squib."

"Uncle William says he's definitely a Squib, and William would know. He spent a lot of time getting yelled at by Filch."

"Your uncle's a whack job, Liz."

"Is not!" She kicked Ron again.

"Ow! Stop that!"

"Think about it. It makes a lot of sense."

Ron seemed to maul it over. "It would explain a lot. Like why he hates students so much." He gave a satisfied smile. "He's bitter."

A clock somewhere chimed.

"Midnight," said Harry. "We'd better get to bed before Snape comes along and tries to frame us for something else."

For the next few days, all the school could talk of was the attack on Mrs. Norris. Elizabeth thought she would have been ecstatic when that creepy little dustball was gone from the school and she didn't have to worry of her running around as the eyes of Filch, but Filch had made it impossible to enjoy the new freedom. He had been pacing the spot where Mrs. Norris had been attacked, and when he wasn't pacing, he was skulking through the corridors, eyes reddened with tears, having random outbursts on unsuspecting passing students. Elizabeth had heard him try to put a few students in detention for "breathing loudly" and "looking happy."

Elizabeth moved closer to Richard's side as they passed him after lunch one day. "What's his problem?" she whispered to Richard.

Richard looked back over his shoulder. "Don't antagonise him, Elizabeth Ann, he'll give you detention for being related to Uncle William."

"Did he do that to you?"

It was no secret in their household that William was a handful growing up. Margaret liked to remind him of all the trouble he used to cause and how disappointed she was in him. Elizabeth didn't know how he put up with it. If her mother was still alive and spoke to her the way Margaret spoke to William, Elizabeth would have run away from home and never come back. Besides Margaret, a few of the Hogwarts staff members had expressed their disappointment in William. He was awfully gifted with magic, but instead of using his power to get ahead in school, he used his abilities to play pranks and make jokes. Professor McGonagall was particularly annoyed with William, as she was head of Gryffindor House and saw a lot more of him in her office than she would have cared to. She said it was a shame, since he was talented at Transfiguration. Professor Flitwick probably would never let it go that William quit the Charms Club. Professor Snape was never going to run out "Terrible things William did during school" stories so it seemed. Hagrid had a few words for Elizabeth about not becoming as bothersome as William, whom he said he had to chase away from the Forbidden Forest several times as a child. Flich, though, had some of the worst things to say about William and his friends, as they seemed to always be caught by Filch causing trouble.

"He tried," Richard said. "Thank Merlin for Professor McGonagall."

"Did she give you detention for pulling your wand on Filch?"

"No, Dumbledore said it was a heat of the moment thing. Filch said he'd kill Harry and at the sound of the word kill, I just whipped out my wand. I wasn't even thinking about pulling it on a staff member. McGonagall took twenty points from Ravenclaw. That was all really, because I'm a prefect and all. I should have known better."

Elizabeth stopped in the corridor and grabbed Richard's arm. She waited for a couple of third year Slytherins to pass by them so they were alone. "Richard, did you recognise the words on the wall? Like, did it sound familiar to you?"

He took hold of Elizabeth's hand and pulled her down another corridor as the Fat Friar went drifting by. "You remember Gramps talking about it too?"

"I remember it, but not that Gramps said it."

Richard glanced around to make sure no one was around to hear. "Meet me after dinner in the Owlery."

"Are we going to send a letter to Gramps?"

Richard shook his head. "Uncle William. If there's some hidden part of Hogwarts, he knows where it is."

Elizabeth had realised early on in life that her uncle was an acquired taste. He was a little too much for his own mother somedays. William was a mischievous boy with a lust for trouble and an ability with magic that Margaret sometimes referred to as "terrible," and not in the sense he was lousy at it. He had the ability to cause damage if he wanted to. She thought Richard never approved of him much either, as he did seem to be an awful lot like Margaret at home. Richard was never the kind of boy Elizabeth figured stood for rule breaking and havoc wreaking. He was rather dull in Elizabeth's mind when it came to personality, but if there was one thing he was above all else, it was clever. Richard could have been just as troublesome as William if he wanted to. Merlin knows he had the brains to do it.

The attack had everyone shaken up. Besides Richard walking around like he was a detective all of a sudden, Ron had to comfort poor Ginny, who was rather upset about Mrs. Norris, as she was a cat lover. Even Hermione had been affected. She had taken to reading herself into isolation. She refused to mention anything was wrong until that afternoon in the library.

Elizabeth was sitting with Ron at the back of the library, watching him measure his History of Magic coursework. Professor Binns had assigned a three-foot-long composition on "The Medieval Assembly of European Wizards." Elizabeth had already finished it and was waiting on Ron while Hermione scoured the library. One of the perks of having an older brother who had already taken the class was knowing what to expect, as Professor Binns never changed his lesson plan. She had History of Magic covered.

"I don't believe it. I'm still eight inches short..." said Ron furious, letting go of his parchment, which sprang back into a roll. "And Hermione's done four feet seven inches and her writing's _tiny_." He grabbed Elizabeth's parchment. "And you've written a treaty again. Do you see this, Harry?"

Harry had joined them finally after being held back in Potions by Snape. He grabbed the tape measure and unrolled his own coursework.

Elizabeth snatched her parchment back and stuck it in her bag. "Stop making fun of my handwriting, owl scratch."

"Sorry we can't all write in _perfect_ cursive."

"Where's Hermione?" Harry asked, breaking up their small quarrel.

"Somewhere over there." Ron pointed along the shelves. "Looking for another book. I think she's trying to read the whole library before Christmas."

"Well, the weirdest thing just happened," Harry said.

"Voices again?" Elizabeth asked.

"No." He sounded annoyed. "I was coming to the library when I saw Justin Finch-Fletchley from Herbology. I was going to say hi, but when he saw me, he just ran off in the other way. He didn't say anything."

"Well, that's awfully rude of him."

"Dunno why you care. I thought he was a bit of an idiot," said Ron, scribbling away, making his writing as large as possible.

Elizabeth leaned over and muttered to Harry, "This coming from the boy who will fail all his O.W.L.s fifth year unless every question is about the Chudley Canons."

"Shut it," Ron said. "He was daft, Liz. You'd think so too. All that junk about Lockhart being so great —"

Hermione emerged from between the bookshelves looking irritable. At last she seemed ready to talk to them.

"_All_ the copies of _Hogwarts, A History_ have been taken out," she said, sitting down at the table with them. "And there's a two-week waiting list. I _wish_ I hadn't left my copy at home, but I couldn't fit it in my trunk with all the Lockhart books." Suddenly, she gripped Elizabeth's arm very tightly and Elizabeth yelped in pain. "Liz! Did you bring your copy?"

Elizabeth ripped her arm away from Hermione. "No," she said rubbing her arm.

"Oh, of course you didn't. If I didn't have room, why would you?"

"If you ever cared to let me finish a sentence, _Hermione_, you would hear that while I didn't bring _my_ copy, I do have _a_ copy. I'll find it for you tonight when I get back."

Hermione had an awful habit of thinking she knew more than anyone. She was often right and she might as well have been a walking encyclopedia, but Elizabeth couldn't stand how Hermione always thought she knew everything. Elizabeth thought she had plenty to contribute. Hermione may have known everything that could be found in a book, but Elizabeth knew things that would never be found anywhere in Hogwarts' library. She knew people. Hermione could learn all the facts about Dumbledore's life, but Elizabeth knew from Thomas that Dumbledore's Transfiguration lessons back in his school days were some of the most interesting lessons at school. Hermione could read all about the positions in the Ministry and think Margaret's job was interesting, but Elizabeth knew most of Margaret's time was spent keeping Fudge from making mistakes. No matter how much Hermione claimed people's personal feelings did not matter as much as fact, Elizabeth still thought knowing other people's perspective on things gave insight into the situation.

"Where're you going now?" Ron asked with a bit of an attitude.

Elizabeth ripped his quill from his hand and threw it to the ground. "If you must know, I'm going to the Owlery with Richard. We're sending a letter to my uncle about the Chamber. Richard thinks if there's a hidden part of Hogwarts, he would know about it."

Hermione seemed to cheer up. "Oh good! Maybe then we'll finally get some answers about this legend."

"What's the legend?" Harry asked quickly.

"That's just it. I can't remember," said Hermione, biting her lip. "And I can't find the story anywhere else."

"Well, I'll get you the book when I get back tonight," Elizabeth said. "But I have to warn you, it's really old and written in."

"And why've you got _that_?" Ron said, having retrieved his quill and was hiding it under the table from Elizabeth.

She glared at him. "I found it in the shop this summer. Seemed odd it was laying around with the other books. Uncle William slipping things in with the inventory again probably. You know, my gran's still mad at him for that little book of lewd drawings he left in the shelves last year."

But Ron wasn't listening anymore. "Hermione, let me read your compositions." He desperately checked his watch.

"No, I won't," said Hermione, suddenly severe. "You've had ten days to finish it —"

"I only need another two inches, come on."

"No."

Ron turned his attention to Elizabeth. His eyes were wide and pleading. "Come on, Lizzie."

Elizabeth was surprised. "Lizzie?"

Ron and Elizabeth hardly considered themselves good friends. They merely tolerated each other they claimed. Richard and Percy's friendship, which had completely disintegrated that year, had pushed them together at an early age, and neither of them were too chuffed about it. To Elizabeth, Ron was a dense git, and Ron made it clear he thought Elizabeth was a pompous lunatic. He was hardly ever nice to her, not that she was nice to him in return. Ron was always going to argue with her and infuriate her. He was never going to stop telling her she's off her head, and that her uncle is just as looney as she is. He'd also never stop trying to get her to do his coursework for him, but she thought maybe he shouldn't have made it so obvious he was trying to use her when he asked.

"Ron, do your own coursework," Hermione snapped. "Elizabeth and I will not help you cheat. You'll never learn if we do it for you."

"But —"

The bell rang. Ron and Hermione led the way to History of Magic, bickering. Elizabeth and Harry exchanged weary looks. She was so used to being the one always bickering with Ron, she didn't know how utterly annoying it was to be on the outside watching her friends fight.

Elizabeth couldn't stand History of Magic. It was the dullest subject in all of Hogwarts according to her, and she said that even after she saw what she had to look forward to next year when she flipped through Richard's Ancient Runes notes. The most exciting thing that ever happened in Professor Binns' class was when he entered through the blackboard, but even that became tiring after the first four times he did it the previous year. The Grey Lady was a more interesting ghost than Professor Binns and Elizabeth had never heard her say a word.

She didn't know how he hadn't realised he was dead. Surely, one would be able to tell after several hundred years of "living" that one had an unusually long lifespan, even for a wizard, and piece together the clues that he didn't eat, didn't sleep, and entered the classroom through solid surfaces. Elizabeth had never heard of a ghost being in denial that they were deceased, since becoming a ghost was a conscious decision one had to make when they died. Professor Binns just kept going with his usual routine, never making one single adjustment to it. She was beginning to think he was aware he was dead, but simply didn't care, as it would have gotten in the way of his everyday habits.

The lesson was as boring as ever. Professor Binns droned on about the International Warlock Convention of 1289 and nearly everyone in class was falling asleep. Elizabeth was drawing owls on her notes during the lecture. She had managed to draw Telemachus, as he rather lacked a shape in her opinion, falling over and rolling down the side of her parchment. She was in the middle of trying to draw Talons, who was a little more difficult, being a great horned owl, when a hand shot up in the air. Elizabeth glanced up to see Professor Binns just as shocked as she was. It was a first in his class. A student had a question, but not just any student, it was Hermione Granger.

"Miss — er —?" Professor Binns clearly didn't make any effort to learn his students by name.

"Granger, Professor. I was wondering if you could tell us anything about the Chamber of Secrets."

The whole room seemed to perk up. Dean Thomas, who was staring out the window, snapped out of his trance; Lavender Brown's head popped up off her desk and Neville Longbottom's elbow slipped off his. Elizabeth had even put down her quill to listen to Hermione.

Professor Binns blinked. "My subject is History of Magic," he said in his dry, wheezy voice. "I deal with _facts_, Miss Granger, not myths and legends." He cleared his throat and continued with the lesson. "In September of that year, a subcommittee of Sardinian sorcerers —"

So much for excitement in History of Magic. It wasn't a dull subject on its own. Goblin rebellions and the causes behind most of the wizard conventions were actually quite gory, if not at least slightly intriguing. Elizabeth picked up her quill again and began shading her drawing of Talons perched at the top of her notes. Professor Binns stuttered to a halt when Hermione's hand shot into the air again. Elizabeth didn't even look up this time.

"Miss Grant?"

"Please, sir, don't legends always have a basis in fact?"

Elizabeth glanced over at Hermione sitting next to her. She was certain that no student had ever raised their hand twice in Professor Binns' class, alive or dead.

"Well," said Professor Binns slowly, "yes, one could argue that, I suppose. However, the legend of which you speak is such a very _sensational_, even _ludicrous_ tale —"

The whole class was now wide awake and hanging on Professor Binns' every word. Elizabeth quickly scribbled on her notes and shoved it over to Hermione's side of the desk.

Hermione read it quickly. "I will _not_ stop asking."

It would have been no use anyway. The entire class was watching Professor Binns expectantly, waiting for him to talk about the legend. Elizabeth knew all he had to say, as she had read _Hogwarts, A History_ before and in Margaret's mind, the founding of Hogwarts was a suitable bedtime story. Richard and Elizabeth considered themselves very lucky not to be stuck with just their grandparents, as Thomas couldn't remember stories, and he often fell asleep before the children when he tried to read them from a book. Margaret's uptight nature had no patience for the stories other children were told, like _The Wizard and the Hopping Pot_, or Elizabeth's favourite, _Babbitty Rabbitty and Crackling Stump_, but if William was out for the night, Margaret put Richard and Elizabeth to bed, and they never got any of Beedle the Bard's stories out of her. It was one of the reasons Elizabeth found William necessary to their upbringing. If it were up to Margaret, they would have missed out completely on a childhood. William had enough common sense to know that children liked rhymes and games, not rules and chores. His parenting skills were quite astounding sometimes, considering he wasn't even a parent, and Margaret's lack of ability to handle her grandchildren was equally amazing, as she had raised two sons of her own, one as wild as centaur, and yet she couldn't handle a simple twelve year old girl half the time.

According to Margaret, Hogwarts was founded over a thousand years ago, and while the date was uncertain, it was known that the Wellingtons have attended as long as it has existed, a fact that Margaret seemed to take pride in more than anyone else in the house, and she wasn't even a real Wellington. She had just married Thomas, probably much to the horror of Grandma Ann, as Thomas liked to call her a hag. Elizabeth was even quite tired of hearing how long her family had been around, as it seemed like all she heard since going to Hogwarts was how long they've all been there.

Godric Gryffindor, Helga Hufflepuff, Rowena Ravenclaw, and Salazar Slytherin built Hogwarts together and founded the Houses, away from the Muggle world, as it was a time in history when witches and wizards suffered much persecution from Muggles. They picked students for their houses based on the qualities they desired most. Bravery and courage for Gryffindor, kindness and compassion for Hufflepuff, intelligence and a thirst for knowledge for Ravenclaw, and ambitious and cunning students for Slytherin.

Margaret never liked to add that Slytherin was the most selective. He valued blood status and wished to keep Hogwarts exclusive to pure-blood witches and wizards only. If she did speak of it, she mentioned how utterly preposterous it was to exclude half-bloods and Muggle-borns, as a Muggle-born could do magic just as well as a pure-blood. Hermione certainly seemed to prove this, although Elizabeth thought no matter how hard Hermione tried, there were simply things she could do better. She had never seen Hermione be able to make fires spark up that weren't ones she conjured in a jar, or bend metal without intentionally transfiguring it.

Slytherin left Hogwarts after an argument with Godric Gryffindor. Professor Binns had explained that much to the class, in his dry, stuffy tone that took all the excitement out of the story.

"But these honest facts have been obscured by the fanciful legend of the Chamber of Secrets," he said. "The story goes that Slytherin had built a hidden chamber in the castle, of which the other founders knew nothing.

"Slytherin, according to the legend, sealed the Chamber of Secrets so that none would be able to open it until his own true heir arrived at the school. The heir alone would be able to unseal the Chamber of Secrets, unleash the horror within, and use it to purge the school of all who were unworthy to study magic."

An uneasy silence engulfed the room as he finished speaking. Everyone continued watching him, including Elizabeth, hoping for more.

He looked faintly annoyed. Professor Binns had a routine and Hermione Granger of all people, rule loving, teacher's pet, Hermione Granger had caused what Elizabeth assumed Professor Binns considered a full on riot in his classroom. In reality, it was simply a question that diverged the lesson for ten minutes, but surely this was anarchy to Binns.

"The whole thing is arrant nonsense, of course," he said. "Naturally, the school had been searched for evidence of such a chamber, many times, by the most learned witches and wizards. It does not exist. A tale told to frighten the gullible."

Hermione's hand was back in the air. Elizabeth wrote on her notes again and slid it over to Hermione.

"Don't tell me to stop causing trouble. I am not causing trouble," said Hermione.

"You are too," hissed Elizabeth. "Put your hand down."

"No." She raised it higher. "Sir — what exactly do you mean by the 'horror within' the Chamber?"

"_Hermione_," Elizabeth growled.

"That is believed to be some sort of monster, which the Heir of Slytherin alone can control," said Professor Binns. The class exchanged nervous looks. "I tell you, the thing does not exist." He shuffled his notes. "There is no Chamber and no monster. There are no hidden parts to Hogwarts whatsoever."

"So I assume you mean the passageway behind the mirror on the fourth floor doesn't exist?" Elizabeth said without thinking. Ron quickly reached over his desk and smacked Elizabeth sitting ahead of him square in the back. She sunk down in her chair as Professor Binns peered at her like he had never seen a student properly before.

"There are no hidden passages in Hogwarts and no Chamber. It has never been found, therefore, it does not exist."

And with that, it seemed as if Elizabeth had created chaos in the classroom.

"But, sir," said Seamus Finnigan, "if the Chamber can only be opened by Slytherin's true heir, no one else _would_ be able to find it, would they?"

"Nonsense, O'Flaherty," said Professor Binns in an aggravated tone. "If a long succession of Hogwarts headmasters and headmistresses haven't found the thing —"

"But, Professor," piped up Parvati Patil, "you'd probably have to use Dark Magic to open it —"

"Just because a wizard _doesn't_ use Dark Magic, doesn't mean he _can't_, Miss Pennyfeather," snapped Professor Binns. "I repeat, if the likes of Dumbledore —"

"But maybe you've got to be related to Slytherin, so Dumbledore couldn't —" began Dean Thomas, but Professor Binns had had enough.

"That will do," he said sharply. "It is a myth! It does not exist! There is not a shred of evidence that Slytherin ever built so much as a secret broom cupboard! I regret telling you such a foolish story! We will return, if you please, to _history_, to solid, believable, verifiable _fact_!"

Elizabeth had never heard Professor Binns have any inflection in his voice whatsoever, let alone yell. The whole class sunk back into its usual stupor. Elizabeth scrawled one last note to Hermione on her parchment.

_Look what you did._

"Professor Binns is going to tell McGonagall you caused a riot in class," Elizabeth told Hermione as the four of them fought their way through the corridors at the end of the lesson to drop off their bags before dinner. "Way to go, Hermione. You've actually done something Gryffindorish for a change."

"I belong in Gryffindor," Hermione said stuffily.

"You belong in Ravenclaw."

Elizabeth had been teasing Hermione ever since last winter that she would have made a much better Ravenclaw than a Gryffindor if she wasn't willing to break the rules sometimes for the the greater good, and whenever she did break rules, she spent the entire time nagging them about how they shouldn't be breaking rules. With her revision timetables and lectures on how they should all put more effort into their schoolwork, Hermione should have been a Ravenclaw and just lived in the library.

"All I know," Ron said, " is that Slytherin was a twisted old looney. Think about it, Liz. He started all this pure-blood stuff. I wouldn't be in his house if you paid me. Honestly, if the Sorting Hat had tried to put me in Slytherin, I'd've got the train straight back home..."

Hatred went both ways in the world. Muggles hated wizards and wizards hated Muggles. They live separately, but it wasn't always that way. At one time, wizards and Muggles lived together. Wizards were held in high esteem in several cultures, such as in Egypt where ancient wizards would put curses on pyramids to protect the dead. Ron's brother Bill worked breaking some of these curses on Egyptian tombs for Gringotts. Witches and wizards held positions of power. They were leaders, inventors, and important influences. As time went on though, distrust of wizards began to grow in Muggles, some even tried to control wizards for their own gain. The persecution of magical folk by Muggles forced wizards to withdraw from the Muggle world. They built their own society separate from those who wished to rid the world of magical influence.

So wizards slowly disappeared from the Muggle world and at the height of the magical persecution, the International Statute of Wizarding Secrecy of 1692 split wizards and Muggles apart for good. The wizarding world was hidden away and all magical creatures went with it. The memories of wizards like Merlin and witches like Circe faded from history to mere fairy tale. Some wizards were resentful about being forced into hiding and cast from a world they helped shape. Even some in modern day held resentment towards Muggles for the oppression they once suffered. To know that Slytherin was the one essentially responsible for the way wizards treated Muggles now, after seeing the way they treated magical beings, was near infuriating. Slytherin spawned a war. He created Voldemort. He was the reason for every life lost trying to restore peace. They weren't allowed back in the Muggle world, and Slytherin had almost destroyed the world they had created.

Harry didn't say anything. He seemed rather uncomfortable with the whole conversation.

"Oh, don't look now, Harry. Here comes your fan club," Elizabeth said, noting that Colin Creevey went passed them, shunted along in the throng.

"Hiya, Harry!"

"Hullo, Colin," Harry said automatically.

"Harry — Harry — a boy in my class has been saying you're —" But Colin was so small, he couldn't fight against the tide of people bearing him toward the Great Hall; they heard him speak, "See you, Harry!" and he was gone.

"What's a boy in his class saying about you?" Hermione wondered.

"That I'm Slytherin's heir, I expect," Harry said half-heartedly.

"People here'll believe anything," Ron said in disgust.

"That's ridiculous, Harry," Elizabeth said. "You're not a pure-blood."

"Elizabeth," Hermione said sternly.

"What? That's not an insult. That's logic."

Elizabeth thought it made perfect sense. Slytherin was a pure-blood elitist wizard. His heir would logically be another pure-blood elitist. Certainly, it wasn't going to be a Muggle-born, and while a half-blood like Harry would have more of a chance, Slytherin was the one to start the hatred some of the members of the wizarding world held toward Muggles and Muggle-borns, so she figured it would have been passed down through his descendants. Elizabeth was certain the heir they were looking for was a pure-blood with a bad attitude who was also in Slytherin house.

Elizabeth immediately stopped on the staircase when it hit her.

"What're you doing now?" Ron asked.

"I think I know who the heir might be."

"Who?"

"I'll tell you later. I've gotta find Richard." She took off running up the stairs.

"Let her go," she heard Ron say behind her. "She's nuts anyway!"

As she turned the corner on the next floor, she found herself at the end of the corridor where Mrs. Norris was attacked. Elizabeth stopped dead in her tracks when she saw it. There was a chair against the wall where the first message was found, but Filch wasn't sitting in it like usual. Filch had tried to clean the writing off with Mrs. Skower's All-Purpose Magical Mess Remover, but it had no effect. The message wouldn't come off, but Elizabeth was standing in the corridor, staring at a new message on the wall. _THE CHAMBER OF SECRETS HAS BEEN OPENED_.

Elizabeth turned around to come face to face with Harry, Ron, and Hermione. "The Chamber's been opened," she whispered.

"Now what?" Ron asked.

"Can't hurt to have a poke around," said Harry, dropping his bag and getting to his hands and knees so that he could crawl along, searching for clues.

Elizabeth was convinced Harry had gone mad. From hearing voices to crawling around on the floor, she was absolutely positive he had lost the last of his marbles.

"Scorch marks!" he said. "Here — and here —"

"Come and look at this!" said Hermione. "This is funny..."

Hermione was pointing at the topmost pane, where around twenty spiders were scuttling, apparently fighting to get through a small crack. Elizabeth and Ron stepped as far back as they could as Harry got up to see. Elizabeth grabbed Ron's hand.

"Have you ever seen spiders act like that?" said Hermione wonderingly.

"No," said Harry, " have you, Ron? Ron?"

Harry and Hermione looked curiously at Ron and Elizabeth standing against the wall, ready to run from the spiders.

"What's up?" Harry asked.

"I — don't —" Ron started.

"We — don't —" Elizabeth tried to say.

"Spiders," Ron squeaked.

"We hate them."

"I never knew that," said Hermione, looking at them in surprise. "We've used spiders in Potions loads of times."

"I don't mind them dead," said Ron, who was looking anywhere but the window. "I just don't like the way they move..."

"I make you put them in the Potions," Elizabeth said to Hermione. "It's the only reason I'm your Potions partner to begin with."

Hermione giggled.

"It's not funny!" they both said fiercely.

"If you must know," Ron said, "when I was three, Fred turned my — my teddy bear into a great big filthy spider because I broke his toy broomstick...You wouldn't like them either if you'd been holding your bear and suddenly it had too many legs and..." He broke off shuddering. Hermione was still obviously trying not to laugh.

"Why're you afraid of spiders, Liz?" Harry asked.

"Acromantulas," she whispered.

"What?"

"Acromantulas! They're giant man-eating spiders! Richard gave me a book about them when I was six to scare me. Well, it worked!"

"But these are tiny, Liz. There's no such thing as giant man-eating spiders anyway."

"Yes, there are. Don't let them fool you. They'd eat you if they could."

Even Harry laughed at this.

"Don't tell me these things!" Ron shook her hand off his. "I'll have nightmares!"

Harry quickly changed the subject. "Remember all that water on the floor? Where did that come from? Someone's mopped it up."

"Moaning Myrtle probably flooded the toilet again," Elizabeth composed herself enough to answer. "That's where she haunts." She pointed to the closed door.

"Come on, let's have a look," Hermione said.

"Can't go in there," said Ron gruffly. "That's a girls' toilet."

"Seriously, Ron," said Elizabeth. "No one's going to be in there."

Ignoring the large **OUT OF ORDER** sign, Hermione opened the door. Moaning Myrtle's toilet was the most depressing toilet in the school, Elizabeth was sure. From the cracked mirror, to the chipped sinks, to the wooden doors hanging off their hinges, it looked like it had been left to decay. She didn't blame anyone for not wanting to fix it with Myrtle around. She figured that's why there were so few candles, so no one had to look at just how gloomy the place was.

Hermione put her fingers to her lips and looked at Elizabeth. "Myrtle?"

Elizabeth nodded. "Myrtle."

As much as neither of them cared to admit it, Hermione and Elizabeth were friends. They had a mutual understanding of certain things. They were both annoyed with their roommates, they both bickered nonstop with Ron, and they both knew better than to go bother Moaning Myrtle. This time, it seemed like Myrtle may have been the only one who saw what happened on Halloween, so they had to deal with her.

Hermione set off toward the end stall and opened it. "Hello, Myrtle, how are you?"

Elizabeth dragged Harry and Ron with her to the last stall. Moaning Myrtle was floating above the cistern of the toilet, picking a spot on her chin.

"This is a _girls'_ toilet," she said, eyeing Ron and Harry suspiciously. "_They're_ not girls."

"Nothing gets passed you, Myrtle," Elizabeth said dully.

Hermione elbowed her. "I just wanted to show them how — er — nice it is in here," she said. She waved vaguely at the dirty old mirror and the damp floor.

"Ask her if she saw anything," Harry mouthed at Hermione.

"What are you whispering?" said Myrtle, staring at him.

"Nothing," he said quickly. "We wanted to ask —"

"I wish people would stop talking behind my back!" Myrtle was on the brink of tears. "I _do_ have feelings, you know, even if I _am_ dead —

"Never said you didn't," Elizabeth said. "_Harry_," she smacked his arm, "how do you not know better than to upset Myrtle?"

Tears streamed down Myrtle's ghostly face.

"Myrtle, no one wants to upset you," said Hermione. "Harry only —"

"No one wants to upset me! That's a good one! My life was nothing but misery at this place and now people come along ruining my death!"

Elizabeth thought if she didn't want anyone interrupting her, she shouldn't have taken to haunting a toilet at Hogwarts. The Ministry should have banished her to a swamp somewhere after they made her stop tormenting Olive Hornby.

"We wanted to ask if you've seen anything funny lately," said Hermione quickly. "Because a cat was attacked right outside your front door on Halloween."

"Did you see anyone near here that night?" said Harry.

"I wasn't paying attention," said Myrtle dramatically. "Peeves upset me so much I came in here and tried to _kill_ myself. Then, of course, I remembered that I'm — that I'm —"

"Already dead," said Ron helpfully.

Myrtle gave a tragic sob before she rose up, turned over, and dove head first right into the toilet, splashing them all with water. Her muffled cries could still be heard coming from inside the toilet. Even Elizabeth knew better than to say such things to Myrtle and she rather despised the wretched ghost.

Harry and Ron stood their with their mouths open, stunned. Hermione and Elizabeth just shrugged it off.

"Honestly, that was almost cheerful for Myrtle," Hermione said.

"Glad to see she didn't take Peeves' taunting too hard," Elizabeth added. "Last time Peeves made fun of her, the entire toilet exploded like a geyser."

"Come on, let's go."

They had barely closed the door on Myrtle's sobs when a loud voice made all four of them jump.

"RON!" Percy Weasley was standing at the top of the stairs, prefect badge displayed proudly on his chest, and a look of utter shock on his face. "That's a _girls'_ toilet! What were _you_ —"

"Just having a look around," Ron shrugged. "Clues, you know —"

Percy looked an awful lot like Mrs. Weasley as he turned red with anger.

"Get — away — from — there —" He strode toward them, flapping his arms like an owl, trying to get them to move along. "Don't you _care_ what this looks like? Coming back here while everyone's at dinner —"

"Why shouldn't we be here?" said Ron hotly. "Listen, we never laid a finger on that cat!"

"That's what I told Ginny, but she still seems to think you're going to be expelled, I've never seen her so upset, crying her eyes out, you might think of _her_, all the first years are thoroughly overexcited by this business —

Percy Weasley had always been a self-righteous git. He didn't care about Ginny any more than he cared about Ron. He wasn't showing concern for his younger siblings, he was just worried how it reflected on him. Percy was all about Percy. His image mattered and with Ron running around as a suspect for attacking Mrs. Norris, and poor Ginny crying about it, it made him look awfully unprofessional. Elizabeth thought if he could, Percy would disown his entire family, as they didn't fit the image he was trying to paint of himself. She knew why Richard was so mad. He probably didn't care for Penelope, he just dated her to make himself look better. If she was Richard, she would have wanted to knock his teeth out too. Heck, she wasn't Richard and she still wanted to punch him good somedays.

"_You_ don't care about Ginny," said Ron, whose ears were now reddening. "_You're_ just worried I'm going to mess up your chances of being Head Boy —"

"Five points from Gryffindor!" Percy said tersely, fingering his prefect badge. "And I hope it teaches you a lesson! No more _detective_ work, or I'll write to Mum! And you stay out of trouble too, Elizabeth, or I'll write your grandmother."

Elizabeth had had enough. There was only one pretentious prefect that bossed her around, and that was Richard. No one was going to threaten to write her grandmother and squeal on her. She'd hex Percy to China if he tried that.

"You're not _my_ brother!" Elizabeth said fiercely. "You can't tattle on me to my gran. Who do you think you are, Weasley?"

Elizabeth was in no mood for civility. Percy Weasley was down right infuriating, and if he took points from his own house, he truly was a right moron. She didn't care if he took a hundred points from Gryffindor for her lip. It was for Richard and that made it worth it.

"Show some respect for prefects!"

"You don't. Look what you did to Richard, you prat. He was supposed to be your best mate and you sold him out for a girl you didn't even care for until he said he fancied her." Elizabeth was fuming now. "You're a real weasel, Weasley, and if you pick on your siblings again, I'll write _your_ mum and tell her how you're bullying everyone in school."

She advanced on Percy, who took a step backwards. "Maybe _you're_ the heir, you low life. How would you like that rumour spread around? Percy Weasley, Heir of Slytherin, opening the Chamber to rid himself of anyone who stands in his way of being Head Boy. Enemies of the Heir beware. All we have to do is go to Filch and say you did and then you're done for."

She poked him hard in his prefect badge. "Look where you are right now. You've come back to the scene of the crime to finish off more of your enemies. Think about _that_ next time you want to threaten us." Percy opened his mouth to say something. "And if you think I'm joking, go ahead. Richard and I can hex circles around you, Weasel."

Percy's mouth quickly snapped shut. His whole face went red. "Another five points from Gryffindor for your _attitude_, Wellington!"

He strode off, the back of his neck as red as Ron's ears. It wasn't unusual for Elizabeth to be disrespectful, but Percy did have it coming. Richard was nowhere near as bad as Percy was. He knew family came first, whether or not he always wanted it to. He was above stepping over others to achieve his goals. Percy just seemed rather ruthless to Elizabeth, but Richard painting him that way over the summer hadn't really helped her perception of him.

That evening, Elizabeth sat in one of the open windows of Owlery, Telemachus in her lap cooing as she stroked his head. It was chilly outside as the sun set. The wind was blowing through the glassless windows, ruffling Telemachus' feathers, but he seemed not to mind as long Elizabeth kept petting him.

She didn't notice Richard come into the Owlery. She nearly fell out the window when he touched her shoulder. The jump caused Telemachus to squawk.

"Don't do that!" she yelled. "I could've fallen to my death and then _you'd_ have to explain to gran what happened."

Richard backed off. "Gee, calm down. I wasn't trying to toss you out the window. I thought maybe you'd fallen asleep. You didn't respond when I called your name." Elizabeth picked up Telemachus off her lap and handed him to Richard. "Hi, buddy."

"Don't baby talk the owl, Richard."

Richard had a strange fondness for Telemachus that Elizabeth didn't understand. He couldn't even fly until last year. He was considerably smaller than most of the owls students brought to Hogwarts and Richard couldn't blame that on him still growing. He was just a runt for his species. Owls were supposed to be bright animals as well and Telemachus was far from bright. He didn't have many redeeming qualities other than being a cuddler, which was a nice difference from the family owl Odysseus, who was a notorious biter.

"Did you bring the letter?" she asked.

"Yeah, I wrote it quickly in between classes. I let him know this isn't a social letter. We're writing on behalf of school related business."

"Gee, Richard, only you would be so formal in a letter to your own uncle." She got out of the window. "Did you bring a quill?"

"What for?"

She glanced out the windows to make sure no one was coming up to send any letters. "I think I know who the Heir is." She rummaged through her bag for a quill. "Give me the letter."

Richard reluctantly handed her the letter he had written William and she opened it, adding a P.S. at the bottom. She dotted her full stop on the paper and folded up the letter, handing it back to Richard to attach to Telemachus. He turned his back on Elizabeth, but she swore she saw him give the owl a hug before sending him out one of the windows. He braced himself against the windowsill, watching the bird disappear into the night.

"I guess we wait on answers now," Elizabeth said.

Richard sighed and turned around to sit down on the ledge. "No, now we just hope Uncle William responds at all."

* * *

**A/N:** Plot and quotes from Harry Potter and The Chamber of Secrets by J.K. Rowling, Chapter Nine, The Writing On The Wall, pages 140 to 158.

I've been trying to match each chapter up with the chapters in the book, but I realise with the later books this probably won't be an option, as this chapter's over 10,000 words in itself and this is a short one actually. I may have the patience to read 10,000 words, but I'm aware most people don't anymore.


End file.
